The All New Adventures Of Hermione Granger In…The Chance Of A Lifetime
by Hippothestrowl
Summary: After bitter losses but more than a century of magical study and growth, the smartest witch is reborn to defang the wicked, save Harry, friends, and perhaps the world. Childhood plus Hogwarts years with villains but no Voldemort, so 8 all-new books. Action! Adventure! Angst! Puzzles! Problems! Payback! Fantasy! Friendship! Fluff! Harry/Hermione. Plus Neville. Ron. Ginny. Luna.
1. 0:From The Ashes

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IMPORTANT: If you filtered for COMPLETED fics then each finished book in this fic is a 'complete' story, so just read those. If you wait for the whole 8 books to be finished then you may wait years and it might never be finished! Your choice. This fic will only be showed 'Complete' for a couple of weeks as each book is finished.

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 _At the end of Deathly Hallows, Harry Potter finally defeated Voldemort, but magical society was still influenced by pure-blood beliefs, and through the following years, most of those who had resisted the Dark Lord paid the price – Harry most of all. But worse was to come; Muggles had their own conflicts resulting in world catastrophe. Only one person remained who understood all sides of the tragedy. Now read on..._

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 **Book 0: Hermione Granger and The New Beginning**

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 **Chapter 1**

 **From The Ashes**

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~~~ Accepting Death ~~~

 _Darkness shrouds us in an oppressive, deathlike mystery. Nothing is certain. The mind plays tricks. It reaches out to perceive what truly is... but grasps only emptiness._

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An old woman lay gasping for breath in the dead of night, praying for release from her distress. Drained of hope and purpose in the present, she drew meaning from memories of friends long gone. How exquisite the recollection of their voices now! Their mannerisms! Their most casual touch! What vivid delights she recalled even in their drabbest daily routines. Her wasted facial muscles could no longer smile, but within this pitiful figure endured a remembrance of joy and warmth in youthful companionship.

The direction of her thoughts came to an abrupt halt. From high on the wall opposite her bed, a frosty iron window had suddenly admitted enough moonlight to reveal a Victorian wheelchair that stood in the middle of the room, and the invalid's attention was drawn to it. The strange, cold, lunar radiance was dancing silent, feathery shadows across the framework, almost as if, outside in the wintry air, delicate silver aspens were stirring and whispering to themselves. But trees no longer softened the stark, stony outline of Rathgate Asylum, and within, not one caring soul swung a cheery lamp along its drab corridors.

Despite the entrancing puzzle of the flickering luminescence, the misery and fear of suffocation still murked the old lady's mind. Was this how her life was to end? The memories in which she had lived the last few decades were becoming confused now, yet their impact remained as strong as ever: schooldays blighted by dangers and worry, a husband drowned in self-doubt a century ago, a dear friend traumatised and broken at last by repeated sacrifice, and the life of every good friend taken early. All she had known had been lost, while her own varied careers had also failed the aspirations of the poor woman's great heart.

After dwelling too long on those grim feelings, an awful loneliness hauled her mind beyond the threshold of reason. Pangs of longing and regret tormented her soul. She sobbed softly – even that effort racked the pathetic cripple's feeble frame.

 _Oh, Harry..._

Had she been wrong to renounce magic a second time, and struggle by in the Muggle world? Being one of Hogwarts' finest students followed by ten decades of perfecting many skills had placed her above other witches – but for what? Dark thinking had swayed Ministry decisions down the slippery slope to its demise, and the Statute of Secrecy prevented any help being offered to relieve the plights of the Muggle world: a runaway climate, the over-dominance of commerce, economic collapse; a sickening health service; out-of-control poverty, famine, crime, and finally, global civilisation felled by thermonuclear terrorism – not the vision of 2110 she had ever imagined back in the innocent expectations of her youth, well over a century before.

The magical community, knowing nothing of radiation sickness, had perished along with the rest. A small number of surviving Muggle-borns had understood enough to create enchanted oases, protected from the deadly dust, but the more numerous and desperate Muggles in those areas had taken control, driving the few magicals out, underground, or to their deaths.

The same pattern was repeated around the world until almost no magic remained. But science and technology had diminished and stagnated too. These isolated village-states cannibalised and modified what little remained of use from different eras: a few land vehicles, firearms, farm tools, power generators – whatever could be found. These Muggle tribes were only kept from fragmenting into chaos by harsh regimes – but for how long with neither magic nor science?

With an effort, the ancient witch swung her scrawny legs out from the bedclothes and sat herself upright, coughing and wheezing her distress, eyes on the chair's vague shape. Three steps. Surely she could manage three steps – she who had once helped raise again the cracked stone blocks of Hogwarts School? For naught, of course, the castle had long since been lost beneath the scattered dunes of Europe's fallout desert. Were its dead ghosts condemned to wander forever those dark, buried passageways in sombre silence where lively students once clamoured?

 _Let me die outside, away from this dread place. Let me breathe the clear fresh air once more before the end._

Fear of falling held her there, deep in thought. She pulled a fleecy shawl around her shoulders to keep out the cold, and a fond remembrance warmed her heart too. Her closest friend had bequeathed this garment – his mother's inheritance – to the old woman long ago. She managed an inner smile and spared a little breath to fluff along the plush, magical garment. To Muggles, she knew the fabric appeared a dull fawn, but to her witch's eyes, the fuzzy threads quivered sideways under the flimsy exhalation, presenting new colours and patterns in the faint moonglow.

 _Oh, Harry..._

All those many decades ago their eyes had met briefly and they realised too late that they had both made wrong choices. If only–

"Weasley! What are you doing, sitting up!"

A large flashlight shone blindingly from the direction of the ward keeper's angry bellow, then the harsh room light blazed on with a loud click.

"Get back into bed this instant!"

Strong arms forced the feeble old woman down. "How dare you defy my orders!"

She shouted over her shoulder, "Thompson! Get the jacket!"

"Yes, Sister Daunt."

"Please, n-no," whimpered the old woman. "Can't ... b-breathe ... on ... m-my ... b-back."

"Help me get it on her. And pull the straps extra tight – she needs to be taught a lesson!"

Terrifying adversity often brings out a surprising stance.

" _Enough!_ "

The delicate inmate's cry had been a mere gasp but it carried with it decades of pent-up magical authority. An icy windowpane cracked and spat glass overhead, while the bare light bulb perished with a surprising, tinkling bang. Daunt's glaring torch expired too and fell to the tile floor which was already buckling underfoot and heaving against walls which sparked and crackled with a grim new light – bewitchment!

"Wh-what? What did you say?" stuttered the matriarch, blinking to recover her composure.

The response she received was to be flung back against her assistant in a tangle of elbows and leather straps; they dropped in a heap of confusion. Instantly, the straitjacket they held unfurled itself and wrapped across the pair, netting them down into an undignified horizontal wriggle.

Heaps of sympathetic bedding gently swathed the old woman and moved her across to the welcoming arms of the wheelchair which then curled away out of the open door. Its hard rubber tyres hummed and spun – yet who would notice that they were ... not ... quite ... touching the floor?

The Asylum's reception sentry looked up from an ancient biker gazette to glimpse a grey-haired old lady on wheels whizzing out through the front door. He rubbed his eyes and gawped. Shouts from down the corridor were quickly drowned out as several old wirephones began gonging at once, together with the lockdown bellows squawker. But too late, for the extraordinary witch named Hermione Weasley had already fled.

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~~~ The Gods Fear Them ~~~

The night air's icy bite was choking Hermione in the frozen driveway down which she sped. No trail was left in yesterday's snow, but she dare not tarry. Silently and wandlessly she cast a warm Bubble-Head Charm which relieved the worst of her coughing fit. With a new, determined light in eyes that had long been dimmed of hope, she headed out into the parkland remnants that bordered the asylum on its west side.

There was no question as to her intended destination. A few years before, while still able to hobble about with the aid of a crutch, she had sometimes slipped out to sit in the forsaken gardens beside an overgrown lake and dream away the summery hours. But tonight, framed by beautiful, white-laced branches, the large pool was black against the snowy banks, while the central island, like a Christmas cake topped by...

Hermione stared at an amazing scene.

Larger or smaller than life she could not tell, but three ash-robed witches, luminous as the moon, produced the threads for a colourful tapestry there on the glistening isle. One spun, one measured each thread, and ... the third held long sharp scissors...

Too entranced to stop, Hermione floated her chair over the dark water towards them.

"So, you come at last," murmured the spinner. "I have grown weary of the long emptiness of your life." The one with the measuring rod nodded her agreement but did not look unkindly upon Hermione.

"I ... I think I ... know ... you..." Hermione panted weakly, in a daze of wonder. "You're ...The Parcae ... aren't you? The Fates? Why have you ... called me here? Do you plan to ... cut my thread this night?"

"Your thread, you say?" cried the grim old crone with the flashing, snipping blades. "See how grey it has turned alongside the colours woven round it!"

"Might one be undone?" whimpered Hermione.

"No thread can e'er be unpicked once it has stitched itself into the fabric of life," said the spinner, solemnly.

"Why be so cruel? You wh-whom even the g-gods f-fear!" gasped out Hermione near-inaudibly, for she was nearing her last.

"You chose your path," the measurer said firmly.

"Not f-for me!" – her exclamation left her coughing again – "Leave m-mine be – else cast ... out completely ... if you will. I beg you... might not Harry Potter's thread be reworked? His burden ... too terrible to bear."

"We spin, we measure, we cut – that is all; see how the threads weave themselves," said the third witch, watching Hermione's expression closely.

A strange thought entered Hermione's head. "Then blow upon ... his strand that..." – She gasped in more air with an effort – "that it m-might blend differently, as..." – she sobbed and gasped for many moments, summoning the final dregs of her life – "as ... does ... his m-mother's ... shawl." She gestured weakly to the garment draped over her shoulders.

Hermione was scarcely heard, for she had nothing left – yet it was enough.

"Deathless, we are above the gods, we do not breathe," said the spinner.

All three stared at Hermione who was now urging her wheelchair onward, but all magic spent, she collapsed from it down onto the frozen ground.

Inch by inch she crawled in tortured misery directly towards the fabric where it snaked along the hardened snow and up to the heavenly spinner – yet too late! Her eyes grew dim; Harry's thread was too high to reach and could scarce be seen because of the one black, slimy thread that slithered through and choked so many others.

With her last breath she strained upwards and blew all her hope and her love and... the end of her life. Alas! another thread, not Harry's, but the grim, dark thread, wafted slightly, then it lay still... as motionless as her corpse.

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~~~ The Flutter By Effect ~~~

The summer of 1941 was a hot, sultry one, lasting long into September and scarcely relenting in its fiery grip even as far north as Hogwarts Castle. A small butterfly, weakened by the sizzling temperatures, expended the last of its energy attempting – but failing – to gain the shade of a casement window from which emanated the soft murmurs of children at their studies. The creature could not possibly comprehend the significance of the aircraft growling overhead, nor the hushed cry of "Fighter!" that came from within the building whose sanctuary it sought, yet – miraculously – a sudden, isolated breath of air lifted the butterfly a few more inches, where it collapsed gratefully into the shadow on the cool sill.

"Not a Spitfire! – it's a Hurricane!" came the excited whisper from one of the girls.

"Oh, Myrtle!" whispered her companion, patiently, "there's precious little wind today."

A tiny giggle was suppressed. "It's a Muggle fighter plane, silly! Listen to the engine roar, Irma!"

"A what?" murmured a third girl.

The librarian – the only adult in the library at the time – called out from the farthest shelves where she was stacking books, "Warren! Crump! Hornby! Would one of you please close that window for I cannot hear myself think."

"Yes, Miss Dodderidge." Little Irma, always obliging, was the first on her feet but she had to stand on a chair to reach out for the window handle which had been swung out wide to catch the slightest breeze. What she then saw surprised and delighted her.

Myrtle nibbled at her quill as she watched her friend return. "What have you found, Irma? A brooch?"

"Oh, do clean your spectacles for once, Myrtle!" Olive Hornby chortled softly, framing her own eyes humorously with her fingers. "Can't you see it's–"

"A butterfly," Irma finished for her, "isn't she beautiful? The colours on her wings are like stained glass in miniature. I must look it up to be sure, but I think it's a Pearl Fritillary." She held out her hand which gently supported the creature.

Myrtle gasped. "It's exquisite. Imagine walking into Hogsmeade with a robe pin as beautiful as that? All the girls would envy me."

"Well then," said Irma, taking a Sickle from her pocket, "I might be able to transform one for you if I concentrate on how it looks..."

Myrtle's eyes widened as the silver coin changed into a delicate replica of the insect. She received it with shaking fingers and shining eyes. "Oh, Irma, you're the very best of friends! What would I do without you?"

"You'd have me!" pouted Olive.

"But you're such a tease," replied Myrtle.

"She means no harm," Irma smiled, "and you'll make more chums, Myrtle, you'll see."

"Not as kind-hearted as you though. Thank you, Irma." She held the decorative pin against her collar to see the effect. "And to think you're worried about your OWLs – you'll be straight Outstandings in all of them, you just wait; same with NEWTs."

"Never count your canaries until they are conjured," smiled Irma, but inside she was heartened by her companion's encouragement.

"Myrtle's right – of course you will do well," said Olive, agreeably, "Flitwick says you're the best Ravenclaw we've had. He's confident you'll be Minister for Magic one day. You have a wonderful future ahead of you."

"Oh, 'tish-poo..." Irma's cheeks pinked a little, but her fervent hope was that their head of house was right; all her dreams were of helping to make the world a happier place and she could not wait until she was of magical age when she could venture forth to... Her eye was distracted by the inactivity of the butterfly.

"Oh! I think it might be exhausted," she said, studying the insect which was resting on the table. "Do you suppose it's hungry? Have you got any of that sugar quill left, Myrtle?"

Irma conjured a few drops of water onto the polished surface in front of the butterfly and teased them together with the tip of the quill, waiting a while for the candy to dissolve a little. Perhaps the tiny insect smelt the welcome sweetness, for it crept forward and unfurled its proboscis to drink. After a while it recovered somewhat, but barely enough to flutter up onto a pile of books on the adjacent table – there it remained quite still.

"Dad says they only live a short while. It's waiting to die," said Olive.

"I know, it's so sad." Irma paused. "Do you suppose they suffer?"

"You've a good heart, Irma, but nature can be very cruel – it's the survival of the fittest."

"I can't bear to think it's distressed during its last few moments..." Irma kept watch for several minutes, biting at her lower lip and gnawing at the back of her fingers. Finally, she could endure it no longer; her wand hand crept close to the butterfly. "Peace, my little one. ... _Evanesco._ "

A startled gasp followed by the scrape of a chair came from her left, then soon after by an angry hiss, "You stupid drab! You've vanished Tom's books!"

"Now, now, Avery. I'm sure Miss Crump meant only good," said a quiet voice.

"I'm so sorry, Tom," said Irma in a shaky voice, "I didn't intend– I was only–"

"–only killing a harmless insect." The youth's voice was as sickly-sweet as a dozen sugar-quills, and just as unpleasant to digest. "Curiously, the damage to one's soul from such an act is what I was hoping to study, but those were the only available books, carefully selected from the Restricted Section – they are irreplaceable." The boy paused, examining Irma's frightened expression as if she were a specimen awaiting his collection. "Now we shall never know what happens to your soul when you commit murder, shall we, Miss Crump?"

"But, I... I... hadn't thought..." wailed Irma, horrified, but softening her lament with a hand clamped over her mouth.

"Leave her alone," said Olive, "It was clearly an accident."

Avery scowled. "The filthy Mudblood-lover deserves to be punished! All three of them! Something appropriate, Tom! Something hot!"

"Hush... They simply need more time to think on it," smiled Tom, "a lot more time..."

He performed only the lightest of motions with his hand but, despite the heat, Irma felt a cold chill clutch at her heart. It spread out along her limbs then upwards until her throat began to tighten horribly, her mind shrivelled into bitter contemplations, and her soul lost its way. Irma Crump would never be the same again, and nor would her friends.

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~~~ Broken Lives ~~~

Seasons came and went. The boy called Tom sought elsewhere for the information he wanted, but without success. By the time he was ready to leave Hogwarts, he had long since abandoned that quest. Nor was he the only student whose ambitious dreams had been ruined...

Armando Dippet leaned back in his chair, glanced at Professor Flitwick on his right, then sighed. "Irma Crump, two years ago, you were one of the most accomplished students ever to grace the school of Hogwarts – yet you produced the worst OWL results of anyone in recent times, and here you are now, having failed to qualify to even sit any NEWTs at all. Do you still grieve? Have you still not recovered from the loss of your friends? You have become resentful, sour, and neglected your studies. Is it not time you–?"

"They were no loss." Ignoring the gasps of Flitwick and Dippet, Irma continued, " After I told Myrtle to leave me alone, she was always moaning about something or other – I couldn't concentrate, Headmaster." She paused, tilting her head in puzzlement for a few moments, then grumbled, "and I can barely remember the one who used to tease her." She looked up hopefully. "But I thought perhaps, because of my previous record, a teaching post might provide me with a stepping stone into Ministry work, so all need not be lost?"

The Headmaster was frowning, so Irma hurriedly added, "Or perhaps I could stop back one more year? Study for my OWLs again? I've always longed for a Ministry post."

He shook his head. "In deference to your earlier achievements... the best I can offer you is assistant to the librarian – sorting books, that sort of thing."

Irma Crump's mouth gaped wide in horror. "But I hate the library! All those noisy children and the mess they make! It would be a torment for me to have to spend my life–"

"One has to make do," said Dippet flatly. "With a lot of effort and a little luck you might even become chief librarian when Miss Dodderidge retires in forty years time."

Irma Crump seemed to slump lower than Flitwick's disappointed expression, but her prospects without any magical qualifications were very poor. "Very well, Headmaster, I ... I accept."

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~~~ First Word ~~~

Decades passed during which Irma married – but was soon divorced by – a Muggle named Alfred Pince. There were other changes during these years too: Armando Dippet was succeeded as headmaster by Albus Dumbledore; Miss Dodderidge did indeed retire enabling Irma Pince to replace her as head librarian; and Tom Riddle, taking the name Lord Voldemort, had gathered increasingly darker forces around him. But not all was doom and gloom...

Mrs Anne Granger stared hard at her baby laying on the soft, warm rug before the cosy fireplace. "Edward, I think..."

"What, dear?" murmured her husband from the nearest armchair. He did not look up from the business papers he was studying.

"Nothing."

A few seconds passed. Edward did raise his head then. "Sorry, dear, what did you say?" He watched his wife draw a big breath of air.

"I think she's–"

Edward glanced towards the baby who was comfortably lying on her tummy gazing at the newspaper spread out before her.

"Think she's what?" One of Edward's eyebrows arched in mild concern.

"I think she's ... uh ... reading." When Edward's other eyebrow shot up, she hastily added in a lighthearted tone that was oddly off-key, "Not actually reading of course, I meant pretending to – imitating what she's seen you do so often."

"But you said 'reading'; you meant 'reading' didn't you?"

"Well..."

"Anne, she's not yet eleven months old – she's scribbling on the pictures with her crayons."

Anne hesitated. "It's your... Financial Times, dear."

Edward rolled his eyes. "Ha! Well that explains it. It's the 1st of August tomorrow when I'll be reviewing my share investments and no doubt our _baby_ will be advising me." He fluffed up his sheaf of notes grouchily then placed his attention firmly back on them. A mumbled " _reading!_ " and " _p'uh!_ " could be faintly heard from time to time.

Several minutes passed.

Edward's notes rustled irritably.

He lowered them, frowned, and glanced over at his child. Her tiny fingers were slowly moving down the page and her interest had not wavered.

"Hermione, darling, want to play with Hunny Bunny?" he said, glancing wildly left and right, looking for the cuddly toy.

The baby rolled over on her side to look at her parents quizzically. "Hawwy? Where Hawwy?"

Edward's mouth dropped open. Wide. He looked back and forth between his baby and his wife, a shocked expression on his face. "Did she baby-babble or were those her first real words? Two together! She made a sentence!"

Anne was nodding and beaming and dashed over to scoop up Hermione in her arms. "There's a clever girl! Daddy will find Hunny – won't you, Daddy?"

'Daddy' rushed off to the bedroom – the most likely location for the missing toy – and returned triumphantly, wiggling it in his hands. "Here he is! Hunny Bunny!"

The child's face fell. "Hawwy?"

The proud father held out the soft toy. "Hunny. Say, 'Hunny'."

"Waaaahhh!" wailed Hermione, burying her face in her mother's neck. "Wan' Hawwy!"

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~~~ Reading Between the Lines ~~~

It took an hour to settle Hermione into her cot that evening.

"What on Earth got into her?" said Edward, as he watched his wife through the open kitchen doorway making them both a cup of tea. "Has she ever done anything like this before, Anne?"

She shook her head but the teapot came down rather heavily on the counter.

"What?" he said.

"It's probably just an imaginary friend. Lots of kids have them," said Anne. She sprinkled a few oatmeal biscuits onto a plate then carried the tea tray through to the living room where she placed it on the coffee table.

Edward sank into his chair again. "Then why can't she imagine _Hewie-whatever-his-name-was_ is still here?" He paused. "Anne, it wasn't just a tantrum – she was crying real tears!"

His wife stifled a sob with the back of her fist. "She sometimes..."

"Anne?" he said softly.

"Sometimes... well, it's almost as if she... remembered something. She'd babble and gurgle as normal but there'd be... a faraway... look in her eyes. An _intelligent_ – no, no! I can't explain it better. A few minutes later she's forgotten all about it. This is the longest she's–"

She had been pouring out the tea. There were tiny amber globules of the brew splashed on the polished teak surface of the tray.

"What is it, dear?" said Edward.

Anne put down the teapot and went over to the hearthrug where she picked up the newspaper and studied it for a while, then held it up.

"See?"

Edward came over. "See what? She's scrawled some crooked lines down the page."

" _Seven_ lines."

"So? Seven – eleven – what's it matter?"

"Look more closely. See how that one angles between those two? They could be a capital 'N'."

Edward stared at his wife in disbelief, but she continued, "And those three tiny marks could make an 'E' on the side of that one. This other one might be a 'T'. Her little fingers have struggled with the horizontals."

A cynical smile began to form at the corner of Mr Granger's mouth but he thought better of it. "Darling, they're just scrawls."

"I think she's been trying to copy some of the letters from the FINANCIAL TIMES header," persisted Anne, more firmly.

Edward frowned. "So, you're saying it's, let's see... a capital 'I', then your wobbly ' _N'_ , then T... uh... E ... L – just meaningless scribble."

He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and swore. "Come on, we're missing Emmerdale." He switched on the television and dived for the oatmeal cookies.

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—oOo—

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 **Author's Notes**

 _This is the beginning of a planned eight books comprising one long story without Voldemort (I became tired of rewrites of 'troll-in-dungeon', 'Ginny-in-CoS', and 'Harry-in-Tournament' episodes. All is new. All eight books will be within this one giant story. However, although I can't guarantee I'll finish all eight books, I do commit to each one once started, and hopefully each will have a satisfying end._

 _Many thanks to menm for beta-reading and helping me polish and strengthen the presentation and flow. This Book 0 will cover Hermione's new life up to starting Hogwarts at age eleven. I promise it will be nothing like you expect!_

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

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	2. 0:Growing Pains

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 _So far... After the early death of all her friends, and the collapse of both magical and Muggle civilisation by the 22nd century, the Fates provided a means for the aged Hermione to be reborn. But the young child needs to adjust slowly to her former memories and powers as they are briefly recalled and forgotten again intermittently. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 2**

 **Growing Pains**

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~~~ Big Incident at a Little Teashop ~~~

More than a year passed peacefully by in the parish of Elmbridge during which Hermione, now talking regularly despite a childish lisp, never mentioned her imaginary friend, _Hawwy_. Indeed, she seemed to have utterly forgotten him, and was half jumping with excitement when she was allowed to step out of her pushchair on her second birthday's shopping trip.

"Hold Mummy's hand darling," smiled Mrs Granger. She glanced up and down the busy street then turned to her friend, Mary Derwent, who was prodding a package down further into her trolley.

Anne said, "Mary, have we time for a cup of tea? My throat's dry as dust. Is there a café near here?"

"Yes, there's the Wheel just along there – look. Come on. Joe's not picking us up for another thirty minutes."

They walked along, Hermione enjoying her new freedom, yet clinging tightly to her mother's hand and pointing at everything that caught her attention. "Doggy!" – "That's right, darling." A loud engine roared by in the road. "By'thicle!" – "That's a motorbike, dearest."

As they neared the teashop, Hermione squatted down to stare mournfully at the crushed body of a little bird in the gutter. "Ith it p-poorly, Mummy? Ith the thparrow...?"

"It's gone to heaven, darling. With baby Jesus, remember?"

The child looked up wide-eyed at her mother, trying to comprehend the enormity of what had been declared with such certainty. Mary paused patiently with them, a grim smile on her face, then leaned almost imperceptibly towards the door, ready to go in.

Hermione's eyes flickered her way and lit up with delight as she pointed at the window full of cakes, scones, buns, and a giant teapot display. "Potter'th Wheel!" she squealed.

With a puzzled frown on her face, Mary looked back and forth between Hermione, the shop sign, and Anne. "I thought you hadn't shopped here before?"

Anne Granger struggled awkwardly to manoeuvre her little girl and the pushchair through the door. "She's just good at repeating what people say; she's a quick learner."

"But I didn't say Potter's–"

"Ith Hawwy in here, Mummy? Ith thith wh-where Hawwy livth?" Hermione was excited; she pushed ahead and broke away from her mother's grasp.

"Hawwy! Hawwy!" The little girl ran through the teashop, scanning all the faces of the startled diners. A dark-haired, middle-aged man wearing glasses looked up from his Daily Telegraph.

"H-Hawwy?"

The man smiled, embarrassed, and shook his head, glancing around at the other luncheoners before averting his gaze back inside the protective wings of the newspaper, trying to pretend the misidentification was of no consequence.

As Anne caught up with her wayward daughter, she was met with a contorted grimace of desperate loss; for a moment, Mrs Granger hardly knew her own child.

"Hawwy'th with baby Jeethuth!" wailed Hermione.

Huge fat tears rolled down the girl's cheeks as Anne Granger gathered up her child and swept back out to the street, leaving Mary to struggle after them with the pushchair, trolley, and mouthed apologies to all the staring faces.

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~~~ The Halloween Murders ~~~

The faces of Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall both turned up towards a sustained growl emanating from the night sky above Privet Drive. The rumbling increased to a roar as its source – a motorbike and sidecar – descended to the road close by them, then, abruptly, the noise cut out and silence soothed their ears once more.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, "and..."

The man seated in the sidecar stepped out carefully. In his arms was a bundle of blankets.

"What happened, Sirius?" said Dumbledore. There was an unusually firm edge to his tone.

"My fault... all my fault," said Sirius, in a voice so low it was almost inaudible even in the empty street. He stared at the tiny burden he carried as if in apology.

"Is that...?" said McGonagall.

"Foun' this," said Hagrid, holding out a small sheet of paper to the Headmaster, "in You-know-who's pocket. Known it weren't your 'andwriting, sir."

McGonagall gasped. "Then he's definitely dead?"

"–as a dodo an' twice as ugly. Not a mark on 'im – tho' he 'as now, I'll wager," said Hagrid. "I confess I give 'im a kick up the arse – 'bin wantin' to do tha' fer–"

"Hagrid!" cried McGonagall, in a kind of stifled yelp which then reduced to a barely-heard mutter, "That's not where I would have kicked him."

Dumbledore studied the note and frowned.

"Lily an' James's address," Hagrid explained to McGonagall, who was looking inquiringly at the Headmaster. "Sirius says it's Pettigrew's writin'."

Eyes widening, McGonagall leaned forward and immediately gasped in recognition. "You're right, Sirius – that _is_ Peter's limp scrawl!"

"You changed the Secret-keeper?" Dumbledore examined Sirius's face very closely.

Sirius nodded. "I curse myself for it. I thought... I suspected... Remus was the one – but it was Peter all along." He lowered his head and walked away a few paces where he remained, hugging the bundle as if for comfort and staring into the distance.

"Took it badly," murmured Hagrid. "I 'ad ter grab 'im, stop 'im goin' after Peter. Thought it bes' ter bring 'im 'ere."

"You did right, Hagrid," said Dumbledore, patting the half-giant on the arm. "Not a mark on Voldemort, you say?"

Hagrid stiffened at the direct use of the dark wizard's name, but he answered Dumbledore's question. "We reckon'd it could only be th' killin' curse rebounded on 'im somehow."

"No... shield effects? No magical... conflict? No damage to him or anything else? The room? The cottage?"

"None. The on'y mark is on poor little 'Arry's forehead."

The Headmaster's entire frame eased upwards a little, as if gravity itself had lifted a crushing pressure from him. "This changes everything. Minerva, remind me to recommend a raise in salary for Madam Pince."

McGonagall blinked several times. "Our librarian?"

"Myrtle Warren's ghost told me that while still a schoolgirl, Irma showed a kindness to a butterfly which indirectly prevented Voldemort learning the secret of immortality. That should be rewarded. Very underrated, insects are, in my opinion."

McGonagall's eyes were now blinking so rapidly, they threatened to pop out from under her glasses and flutter away like the insect she was puzzling over.

"Minerva," said Dumbledore, "I'll need to go directly to the Ministry from here to make sure the body and wand are cremated and the ashes dispersed across an unknowable sea; on no account must Voldemort be honoured with a tomb likely to attract sympathisers to his cause."

"Professor Dumbledore, sir... I forgot summat... took this off 'im fer yeh..." Hagrid held up a wand of yew – no more than a twig in the big man's meaty paw.

"Snap it," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Headmaster, shouldn't we...?" said McGonagall.

"I have no stomach for reviewing the spells that took the lives of Lily and James." Dumbledore's tone was unusually bitter. "Snap it," he repeated. When Hagrid did so, he added, "And again."

The remains were incinerated and vanished by Dumbledore's own wand. "It is done."

A breeze came up, flapping their long robes.

"Enough of death; now we must consider the living," said Dumbledore softly, then in the same low tone he hissed to the man who stood apart from them, " _Sirius!_ "

Sirius came back to the group huddled near the neatly-clipped grass of number four. Dumbledore did not hesitate. "In the circumstances, as you are Harry's godfather, it seems appropriate that you take responsibility for his upbringing. If you apply for guardianship or adoption, I will support your offer. May we see the child?"

Sirius gaped for a second or two... "Of course."

He parted the top of the blankets; the others bowed their heads to see better. The face of a baby boy, fast asleep, was just visible. He had a tiny curved abrasion under the front of his jet-black hair – perhaps merely from where the tip of the dark wizard's wand had physically struck his tender skin. The wound was still inflamed from the recent attack but was not bleeding.

"Can you heal it, Albus?" said Sirius.

" _...the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal..._ " murmured Dumbledore, thoughtfully.

"What did you say, Headmaster? What do you mean?" said McGonagall, looking startled.

Dumbledore replied, "I see no reason that this be kept secret any longer. ... There is a prophecy recorded at the Ministry declaring that a child born at the end of July would be the equal of Lord Voldemort and have power to vanquish him. That prophecy appears to have now been fulfilled."

He looked long and hard at the baby's injury, then spun charms across it of which he examined the results most carefully.

"It is a harmless mark but I'm not sure I should remove it. At any rate, in time it will fade somewhat, darken, and look like any other tendril of his hair. Come, there is much to do..."

.

~~~ Total Recall ~~~

Several more fruitful autumns blessed the country and the now five-year-old Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the living room carpet during the half-term holidays. Blue Peter was on the television but she was only listening with one ear while she happily read her new birthday book, Robinson Crusoe.

"Mummy, what'th _th-thpatterdatheth_ m-mean?"

Mrs Granger called back from the kitchen where she was preparing the evening meal. "Spatterdashes? Uuh... I erm... don't know, dear."

The television droned on, ' _...Coming up in this Halloween special, we'll be showing you how to make a witch's hat, but first here is–_ '

"Look it up in Daddy's big dictionary, darling."

' _Thank you,'_ droned the television. ' _These are all simple costumes you can make for All Hallows but you will need–'_

"Hermione?"

But Hermione could not answer. She was staring, ashen-faced at the television screen upon which was displayed a dark-robed figure clutching a broomstick. To the young girl, the live television picture now appeared startlingly vivid yet sluggish – almost frozen, like a VHS on frame-by-frame. The book slipped from Hermione's grip, across her lap, and slowly, ever so slowly, onto the hearthrug, drawing her near-hypnotised gaze. She could see with a new clarity who she really was.

Hermione had stopped breathing.

There was a face she loved. It wasn't in the physical room, yet in her mind's eye the image was just as substantial and even more intense because of its significance. She could see him clearly now – forgotten but remembered at last: Harry Potter.

She drew a first breath.

All her memories were flooding back – even the memories that these recollections had happened before several times, yet had slipped from her mind as often. Slowly she rose to her feet. Clearly, changing the Fates' Fabric of Life had given her this chance of another lifetime. She must not waste a minute of it; _he_ might need her. The thought of a four-year-old Harry's spirit being broken by the Dursleys' cruel mental abuse was unthinkable, intolerable. It. Must. Be. Stopped!

The television said, ' _After covering the cardboard with the black, sticky-backed plastic, roll it into a cone and secure it temporarily with a paperclip – you might need to ask a parent to help here._ '

Eyes widened in astonishment and delight. _Mum and Dad are not dead!_ "MUM!" she shrieked.

Hermione scurried to the open kitchen doorway and gazed in rapture at her mother. It had been decades since she'd seen her alive – at least with _these_ eyes. Those eyes shimmered now.

Mrs Granger, astonished by Hermione's cry, dropped the potato peeler onto the draining board as her little daughter ran up and wrapped her arms around her.

"I've missed you so much, Mum!" sobbed Hermione. "Oh, Mum, Oh, Mum."

The puzzled adult smiled and stroked her fingers through Hermione's bushy hair. "What brought this on sweetheart? Which book have you been reading?"

Hermione stiffened, then pulled away towards a kitchen chair upon which lay a memo pad. "Books! Mum, can I borrow your notebook? I have quite a variety of important tasks to accomplish and I must get organised A.S.A.P. – there may not be much time!" She flipped over to find a blank page, then began to neatly write a list.

Anne Granger stared in wonder at her five-year-old.

"I'll need your assistance, and Dad's support too – that's paramount," said Hermione, half to herself, then wrote it down. "I'll have to use the spare room for storage and preparations. There'll be purchases to make... sufficient funds must be raised." She chewed thoughtfully on the end of her mother's ballpoint pen for a few seconds then went across and climbed up onto the chair below the wall calender.

"1984... 1984... What happened in 1984 or 5...?" She frowned for a moment, then her eyes brightened. "Mum! What year did Last Suspect win the Grand National?" Hearing no reply, she turned too abruptly – almost falling off the chair – and looked at her mother expectantly.

Mrs Granger was leaning feebly against the sink unit. In one hand she clutched a handkerchief which she held to her mouth; in the other she limply gripped a large kitchen knife. Her face was distraught. An expression of terror was holding back the threat of glistening tears.

" _Who are you?_ " she whimpered. " _What have you done with my daughter?_ " The strength of her voice dropped even further until she was almost inaudible. " _Where's my little baby?_ " She pointed the blade shakily in Hermione's direction.

Hermione stared open-mouthed, realising that in her haste she had been tactless. "Mum! It's me! It's still me! I'm still your Hermione – but growing up fast."

She jumped down off the chair and walked forward smiling, but when her mother cringed fearfully away, Hermione backed off in alarm. "I'm not possessed, Mum! My head's not going to spin round!" She stared in dismay at the fear in her mother's eyes. "Sorry, Mum – I'll keep my distance."

Climbing back on the chair, Hermione sat down cross-legged in what she hoped was a non-aggressive attitude, wondering how to present herself. She couldn't pretend by lisping and acting childishly – that wouldn't fool her mum. She would have to appeal to her mothering instincts. "Mum, I desperately need your help so we can work this out together."

She studied her mother's expression carefully before continuing, "You've noticed odd things happen with me – learning to read early and, uuh... inexplicable, impossible things like er... well, that broken vase that erm... got mended..."

"Wha– what is h-happening with you? You sound so..."

"I'm er... different, Mum – I'm a magi– that is, a erm... _specially-gifted_ person. It's uuh..." – Hermione thought quickly, knowing her mother would freak out if she knew the truth that her infant had access to the memories and powers of a 130-year-old witch – "the fact is it's making me grow up a bit faster than normal that's all."

"But..."

"It's happened before a few times briefly – remember that night I woke up screaming? It never lasted, so this might not either. Mum, there's something important I want you to do in case I relapse again. It's Harry Potter, he's–"

"Your imaginary friend?"

"He's real, Mum, Harry's a real boy. He's only four and has to live with cruel relatives. We have to go and..." her voice tailed off into confusion. "We have to..."

"Hermione?" Mrs Granger looked at the expression of bewilderment on her daughter's face. Determination had faded in the child's eyes leaving only innocence.

"Mummy, what'th _th-thpatterdatheth_ m-mean?"

Mrs Granger couldn't speak for a few moments, then she said hoarsely, "Look it up in Daddy's big dictionary, darling."

.

~~~ Clearing Things Up ~~~

Mr Granger helped his wife clear away the dishes from their evening meal, then grabbed a tea towel and began to dry while she washed the pots and pans. Not a word passed between them for a few minutes.

"What's on your mind, Anne?" Edward knew something was troubling her.

"Oh, I was wondering if we might, you know, reverse our roles – just to try it out you understand."

"You want to dry? You hate drying!" He made a face of comical surprise.

"Not the dishes!" she laughed thinly, "I mean, I resume full time work at the surgery and you work part time instead of me – take Hermione to and from school and so on."

"Mmm... we talked about this before she was born, remember? We agreed that you'd... is she...? is something... has something happened then?"

"Hermione needs help, Ed."

"She's fine – just hyperactive and extremely intelligent."

"Hermione's NOT fine!" cried Anne, dunking a saucepan back into the hot water with a splash. "There's something seriously wrong. This afternoon she had another..."

"Another one of her turns?"

"Yes, but... well, she sounded... so... different.. so... grown up – almost bossy."

"Bossy? Our little Hermione? You must be joking, Anne." Edward laughed quietly, not wishing to wake the child asleep upstairs. "She's such a passive, sweet little creature."

"Exactly, which is why her behaviour was so–"

"So... what?"

"Well, I was going to say... abnormal."

Edward shook his tea towel irritably at his wife. "Now this is getting ridiculous! My little girl is NOT abnormal!"

"But–"

"Enough!"

There was silence for a while. Finally, Edward yielded. "Sorry, Anne. ... Alright, alright, I'll have a word with Saunders; he might know someone who could speak to her in a discreet way – but our Hermione is NOT abnormal!"

.

~~~ The Disquieting Gates ~~~

Mrs Granger frowned at her rain-spattered watch as she helped Hermione down from the bus – they'd had to let their second car go to meet baby expenses – then studied the address on the form given to her by their colleague, Doctor Saunders. His initial examination and questioning had led them to a clinic appointment.

A grimace crossed her face as they turned the corner; the building was very old and rather forbidding, and the foul weather didn't help. The road was clearly Victorian and boasted what was surely one of the few cobbled surfaces remaining in the country. The cold rain washed along the gutters and only the wetness of the street litter prevented it from being blown by the wind. She glanced once more at the soaking, dripping document she held to check the address."Oh, well, I guess that must be the place. Come on, we should be home in time for lunch."

But as she stepped out, Mrs Granger found herself anchored by the little hand in hers. She looked down. Hermione's face was pinched with distress.

Mrs Granger crouched to reassure her child with an arm around her shoulder. "Why, you're trembling, sweetheart!"

"Pleathe d-don't p-put me in the athylum, Mummy!"

Her mother gave a weak smile. "Where did you hear such a word?" She shook her head then released a sigh. "Have you been reading Daddy's books again? Listen, it's not an asylum, darling, it's only a day clinic. They'll tell us what to do, then we can go home."

"Am I a m-mad p-perthon, Mummy? Ith that'th what'th wrong with m-me?"

Anne Granger gasped and struggled to speak. "There's nothing wrong with you dearest! Don't ever think that! Mummy loves you very much." She gave Hermione a long hug then they walked on – the child setting a doubtful snail's pace as their shoes clattered and splashed along the narrow, puddled pavement towards the wrought iron gates.

.

~~~ Clinical Trial ~~~

The receptionist haughtily shook her long blonde curls and pointed the Grangers vaguely and without interest towards the consultant's surgery door before continuing her telephone conversation. "Yes, I know... Oh, is he?" – giggles – "You don't say! ... Who'd have thought it? Oh, did you see–? Yes! Wasn't he drop-dead gorgeous!"

Anne knocked and upon hearing a distant "Enter!" she let herself in and introduced herself and Hermione to the senior physician. He nodded and shuffled a few papers noisily around on his desk.

"Mrs Granger, from Doctor Saunders report, there are definite indications that your child may be suffering from dissociative identity disorder triggered by early emotional trauma – what used to be called a split personality. We need to verify this then investigate the cause before we can begin treatment."

The rain was now fizzing very loudly on the window and the doctor had raised his voice to be heard. His face dipped briefly into the pool of yellow light cast by his desk lamp as he studied his appointment book.

Anne Granger stared in horror at the consultant. "But Mr Lander, Hermione has never suffered any severe shock, and she's well-balanced and very intelligent for her age."

"I'm sure she is, but the fact remains, it is essential we find out what has troubled her so deeply. Hypnosis may help to uncover those memories." He picked up his telephone and began muttering into it.

Anne felt little tug on her sleeve followed by a whimper. "Am I a thpoilt p-perthonality, Mummy? I'm not, am I?"

Mrs Granger's eyes flashed. "Not at all, darling, you're–"

Lander's telephone crashed back into its cradle. "We'll be taking the child in for observation for a few days so we–"

"What! Surely not! No. I don't think it's a good idea for her to be away from home."

The doctor sighed. "I'm afraid I must insist."

"You can't do that!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs Granger but we can. I have here a court order enabling us to evaluate her case. There are signs she may have been... mistreated. I'm not saying you personally are responsible but–"

Anne Granger leapt to her feet. "What are you implying!" She took Hermione's hand and helped her down from her chair. "We're leaving!"

Lander shook his head and got to his feet too. "I'm sorry but she must stay. The ward sister will–"

"Mummy!" whimpered Hermione, clinging to her mother's raincoat and pleading up to her with tear-filled eyes. "Pleathe don't leave me! Pleathe don't leave me in the Loony bin! Don't let Thithter Daunt ch-choke m-me in a thwaitjacket!"

"I'm not leaving you, Hermione!"

"P-Promithe?"

"I promise!"

A dark frown had creased Lander's brow. "What have you been saying to her! How does she hear such words as Loony bin and straitjacket? Mrs Granger, we must–"

The door opened and a smiling black woman with a pleasantly-rounded face stepped in.

"Ah, Sister Lamb, would you escort this child to Doctor Randall, please? He's preparing–"

"NO!" shrieked Anne, as the newcomer gently took Hermione's arm to draw her away. "Let go of her!"

"MUMMY!" wailed Hermione.

Anne Granger had no intention of surrendering her daughter. She pushed the nurse roughly to one side and scooped up Hermione in her arms, failing to notice Lander's hand was pressed firmly on a push button at the side of his desk.

Her way out was blocked by two attendants who burst into the room and held the poor woman's arms while Sister Lamb – with a soothing "There, there, you'll be fine" – carefully detached Hermione and carried her away. Mother and daughter struggled and screamed their distress.

"My baby! Give me back my baby!" Mrs Granger's eyes blazed, but her attempts to strike out were ineffective against the much stronger orderlies.

"MUMMY! MUMMY!"

Once Hermione's shrieks of despair had faded into the distance, Mrs Granger collapsed, supported only by the men, who helped her to a seat. "I want my baby..." sobbed Anne.

.

~~~ A Mental Incursion ~~~

Doctor Phineas Randall frowned. After twenty minutes calmly questioning and presenting comforting suggestions to the girl, she was still extremely agitated. Hermione was lying on a softly-cushioned examination trolley with gentle music playing quietly in the background – yet remained rigid with fear.

"Bring over the nitro, Sister Lamb, it'll help her become more receptive to the hypnotherapy."

Hermione watched anxiously as the nurse wheeled over a cylinder enwrapped with tubing and cables. The doctor then took the longest tube from his assistant and fitted a wide nozzle onto the end.

"No need to worry, little girl," said Randall. "It won't hurt a bit, and we'll be able to find out what's troubling you."

"Ith it gath?" wailed Hermione.

"Yes, it's a very pleasant gas that will help me to uncover your deepest memories so–"

"NOOOO!" cried Hermione.

"Sister, can you hold her arms while...? That's it..." He moved the mask carefully towards Hermione's mouth...

"Aaagh! She BIT me!" Randall dropped the mask and pulled away, wincing at the wound on his right hand. "Bloody teeth marks!"

"Doctor!"

Randall rounded on the unfortunate woman. "Don't just stand there! Fetch me a dressing – and get me the restraints while you're at it!"

"Oh, surely not for such a little child?"

"DO IT!" The medical man glared at Hermione for a few seconds, clearly thinking about how to handle the situation, then he whirled around and called after the nurse, "Bring me back a cup of tea as well!"

"Sir! Remember, the machine is out of order?"

"Then boil a kettle, you foolish–! You can do that can't you!" His words were as stinging as his injury.

"But the kitchen is at the opposite end of the building to the medications and supplies – it'll take me most of ten minutes to get them all." She bit her lip then summoning up her courage, lifted her chin defiantly. "You know the rules, Doctor Randall – either a parent or a qualified nurse must be present while–"

"RUN, DAMN YOU! Do you want me to bleed to death!" He sucked the side of his finger and hustled the nurse to the door. "GO!"

Sister Lamb sniffled as he slammed the door on her, and her eyes widened as she heard the lock click shut. After only a few moments of hesitation, off she hurried as fast as her rather plump legs would carry her.

"Now, you little–" muttered the man to himself as he spun around to deal with his patient once more.

The doctor strode back to Hermione who, off balance, was trying to sit up. He grabbed the tubing, worked the end firmly into his hand, then pressed his other forearm across the little girl's chest, almost at her throat, pinning her down while he forced the mask over her mouth. "You will do as you are told, you hear? It's not going to hurt, you silly thing! Just breathe deeply..." He twisted a valve and the flexible tube began hissing like a snake.

Hermione's eyes widened in horror, then, without warning, they suddenly flared with understanding and intelligence; a deep, unconscious instinct had taken over. " _Enough!_ "

"Wh-what? What was that?" stuttered the doctor, easing the pressure off the girl's ribcage. He staggered back – had something invisibly pushed him? A puzzled frown creased his forehead. Tendrils of impressions were creeping like inquisitive insects into his thoughts, making him blink and shudder.

Hermione finally sat up. She looked him straight in the eye and said, "Now this won't hurt a bit..."

The doctor sank limply into a chair. An odd sensation of being examined very deeply seized him, yet he found he could not move. Inquiries and suggestions were penetrating his mind which he was unable to resist.

 _You rent your house to yourself via a clandestine business...?_ came a murmur in his brain. _Aah..._

"So your wife will get nothing," Hermione said aloud, nodding her head in understanding. "You're a nasty piece of work, aren't you, Doctor Randall?"

"I'm a nasty piece of work," repeated the man in a monotone.

"You wish to write up your report very quickly," declared Hermione with a tone of authority, "affirming I am mentally stable and intelligent but maturing rapidly in unexpected steps then slipping back a little – that process will eventually smooth itself out and I'll be fine. The practice has made a huge mistake keeping me here and I should be released immediately or risk litigation."

"I must hurry to finish my report–" said the doctor, struggling to his feet and rushing over to his desk where he seized a ballpoint pen and began writing furiously.

After a while, the door handle rattled then the muffled sound of Sister Lamb's voice could be heard. There was a tentative knocking.

"You must hurry," said Hermione.

"Yes, I must hurry," agreed the man, as from a daze.

"Doctor! Please let me in!" The door handle clicked and clacked ineffectually again.

When the pen finally fell from Randall's aching fingers, Hermione said, "You will tell that blonde bimbo in reception to go stuff herself then, over the next few days, you will have all of your assets signed over to your wife and agree liberal alimony. You will resign from your partnership here and seek employment in... let's see... the sewers should suit your nature."

"Yes..." murmured the man, with a faraway glaze across his eyes, "I've always deserved to work with sewage..."

Hermione glanced towards the increasingly desperate noise coming from the door. "Thank the good lady Sister Lamb for her help, and... give her a raise in salary. Oh, and after she has escorted me to my mother, give her an hour's break while she drinks your tea." There was a smile on Hermione's lips, but it was a grim one. _Alohomora._ Her wandless hand had barely moved.

The door flew open and Sister Lamb stumbled inside. "Doctor...!"

"Ah, there you are, Dorothy, my dear!" beamed Randall. "Thank you so much for your help - you have been of great assistance to me. In fact, I want to increase your pay beginning immediately - you deserve it! Could you escort the young lady back to her mother, please, and give Mr Lander this report? Young Hermione is fine – a wonderful girl – she can leave whenever she wishes."

Sister Lamb stared in disbelief as she set down the rattling tray she was carrying and took the form from him. "Miss Granger can go?" she croaked. She looked down at the smiling girl who reached out and took her hand.

"Yes, yes!" cried Randall. "Then you can take a well-earned break for an hour – here, have my cup of tea – you sound rather dry."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I agree the doctor in that last scene edges on the unbelievable but I needed to demonstrate the depth of Hermione's power over others and how her magic is gradually returning to her remembrance._

 _Voldemort IS dead. No question. I wanted to convey that clearly by as many differences to the scene at the cottage as possible. No damage to the building. No lightning-bolt wound – just a normal one. No disappearing body. I assume all those original events were to do with magical conflict between the immortality conveyed by the Horcruxes, and the rebounding death curse. But in my story Voldemort just drops dead._

 _Many thanks to menm for beta-reading and helping clarify any confusing sections. Thanks also to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

.


	3. 0:Truth Will Out

.

 _So far... After the early death of all her friends, and the collapse of both magical and Muggle civilisation by the 22nd century, the Fates provide a means for the aged Hermione to be reborn. But the young child's former memories and powers are only briefly recalled and forgotten again intermittently. Fearing a split personality, Hermione's mother takes her to a clinic at which the girl magically compels the doctor to give her a clean bill of health. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 3**

 **Truth Will Out**

* * *

.

~~~ The Magickial Girl ~~~

Autumn quickly gave way to winter. On New Year's Day, Anne Granger resolved to save towards a new three-piece suite for the lounge, Edward promised to replace their ageing television set and to paint the back garden fence, while Hermione, who had read Peter Pan over Christmas, determined to remain a little girl forever.

Soon spring was close at hand and full of promise. During these months, Hermione had increasing periods when she could draw upon the memories and powers of her former future self, yet still she had to experience her new childhood to gain a balance and adjust. So, for the most part, she remained oblivious of her true nature except in an unconscious, instinctive way. On the last Saturday in March she was dancing, and hip-swaying, and singing to the radio...

" _Thum boyth kith me, thum boyth hug me..."_

Anne Granger grinned at her husband, sharing a happiness in every sign of their five-year-old's normality. Smiling, he folded his newspaper and walked over to switch on their new television.

"Use the remote, darling," said Anne.

"Oh... right. Uuh, where is it?"

"It slipped down the back of that saggy seat cushion where you were sitting."

"Thought we were getting new furniture this year, weren't we?" he muttered.

" _Cauthe we are liv–ing in a magickial world, and I am a magickial girl. ... You know that we are liv–ing in a–"_

Mrs Granger frowned. "Are you sure those are the right words, Hermione?"

"Oh, Mummy! Don't you know anything!"

"But shouldn't that word be–?"

"How'd you get BBC1 on this thing?" grumbled Edward, cutting in.

"The number buttons, dear. Press the number one button."

"But I AM pressing the '1' button!"

"You have to point it, Ed." Mrs Granger thrust her empty hand towards the television to show him by gesture. Hermione mimicked her and the channel changed to BBC1.

"There, you see?" said Anne.

"But... but I didn't press it that time..." blustered Edward. "Stupid remote control – they'll never catch on, that's for sure."

"What time's it start? The National?"

"Well, the race doesn't begin for another twenty minutes but I want to hear what they've got to say about the favourite, Greasepaint."

"Ith that the betht horth, Daddy?"

"Well, it's the horse that most people have bet will win, sweetie."

"How much will they win?"

"Erm... let's see... The odds are 13/2 but it's best to back it each way in a race like this so you get a quarter of that returned even if it comes first, second, third, or fourth."

"Edward! Don't get her interested in gambling, for heaven's sake! You know how I feel about that."

"She needs to know how the world works, darling, so she can make good judgements."

"She's only five!"

"It's just a bit of fun. It's the biggest horse race in the world, Anne, and it's only once a year!"

Hermione had her little purse open and was inspecting the contents. "Tho, if I bet my 50 pence pocket money, what would I win, Daddy?"

"If you bet Greasepaint 25 pence each way at thirteen to two for a win plus a quarter for a place and it won, you'd get... uuh..." He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and reached for his newspaper.

Hermione murmured, "Half of twenty-five time'th thirteen, that'th about 162p and a quarter ith 40p – that'th more than two poundth!"

The father stared in astonishment at his daughter. "Sheesh! – is that what they teach in primary school these days?"

"Can you add it to your bet, Daddy?" said Hermione, holding out a sticky palm with the coin. "On the favourite?"

Mr Granger opened his mouth to speak but his wife interrupted with a puzzled frown. "Are you sure, Hermione? Wouldn't you like one of those other horses with better odds? You'd win fifty times that, wouldn't you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and said rather haughtily, as if explaining something obvious to a dim three-year-old, "No, Mummy, fifty time'th nothing ith thtill nothing! Greathepaint ith the betht horth – ithn't it, Daddy?"

"Erm..." But 'Daddy' excused himself by running out into the hall to phone in their combined stakes on Greasepaint. He called back rather dryly, "Pity nobody's produced a remote that can make phone calls, eh? That might be of some use instead of a stupid TV click box that doesn't do what you want it to."

When he returned, the horses were lining up, and his wife, whose face now carried a very worried expression, was still talking to her daughter. "Are you certain, Hermione? You can still change your mind."

"Oh, please, Anne, she's not going to turn into a gambling addict over 50p! Let's enjoy the race."

"But..."

Edward frowned at his wife. "Are you alright?" His frown deepened. "You don't look well..."

" _THEY'RE OFF!"_

Edward was instantly distracted from his wife's demeanour by the horses galloping away. But as the race proceeded, if he had taken his eyes from the screen for even a moment, he would have seen that Anne appeared positively sick with fear. Towards the end of the race she had sunk into a chair in the far corner of the room, unnoticed.

"He's running third! Come on, Greasepaint!" yelled Mr Granger, and he raised some dust by slapping the old sofa's arm like a horse's rump.

" _Racing towards the Elbow, and Mr Snugfit is clear of Corbiere, Greasepaint, Last Suspect, and Classified!"_

"Come on, Greasepaint!" bellowed Mr Granger, bouncing on the edge of his sofa, "Come on, you mother!"

"Come on, you mother!" cried Hermione at his side, waving a little fist in imitation of her father.

"Edward!" croaked Anne. "Please!"

" _Inside the final furlong, and it's Mr Snugfit being challenged again by Corbiere – and Last Suspect putting in a tremendous run! It's Mr Snugfit from Last Suspect, and Last Suspect is determined to get up on the near side! And Last Suspect has won it! Mr Snugfit second, Corbiere third, fourth is Greasepaint..."_

"Each way!" Hermione cried triumphantly, "We get 40 pence for fourth place leth 25 pence lotht on a win, that'th 15 pence profit, Daddy! Jutht think, Mummy! Fifteen pennith for doing nothing!"

Mr Granger was not quite as enthusiastic as his daughter – even though he'd bet five pounds each way and won ten times her winnings. As the excitement dwindled, he glanced guiltily at his wife. "Anne?" He jumped to his feet and went over. "What's wrong, darling? You look white as a sheet!"

"I... I..."

"What is it? Can't you speak?"

"Last..." she gasped, weakly holding up a slip of paper.

Mr Granger took the paper from her and studied it, aghast. "You bet on Last Suspect?" He staggered back a step. "You bet the winner!" He blinked, wide-eyed for a few moments. "But why? You never gamble, Anne! Still, at least you–"

His voice croaked then failed as he looked at the amount on the receipt. "A thou–? A thou–? A thous–?" He couldn't quite fully say the amount. "You put our entire furniture savings on a horse?" His mouth gaped really wide. "You won over £25,000?"

"No, I didn't know about each-way betting then. I placed it all to win and got better odds ante-post a few weeks ago. We've won £66,000." His wife had found her voice and was examining Edward's expression carefully. His eyes bulged unblinkingly and he opened and closed his mouth silently like a codfish.

"But why, Anne? Why?" he finally managed to say.

" _Cauthe I got the real love – the kind that you need, and..."_ Hermione had gone back to strutting and prancing and singing along with the radio. She was using the TV remote as a pretend microphone against the side of her throat and somehow it was making her voice louder. Anne Granger turned to look towards their daughter. Edward followed his wife's gaze, and understanding dawned in his eyes.

" _You'll come running back... you'll come running back... you'll come running back – to me-ee-ee..."_

Edward had gone over to the briefcase on his desk at the side of the room, and had pulled out some papers; he was scrutinising them carefully and muttering to himself. "So Anne got the winner from Hermione but Hermione backed a different horse – she bet on the _logical_ one with the best chance. It's as if she didn't remember knowing the real winner!" He glanced over at his daughter slowly windmilling her arms back and forth over her head and singing:

" _Ti–yi–a–yime ith on my thide – yeth it ith."_

Anne skirted around Hermione to join her husband. "Your investment shares?"

"Remember years ago when she wrote INTEL on my Financial Times? I figured it out the next day when I was reading the issue. Intel is a tech company and they're doing incredibly well." He averted his gaze guiltily before continuing, "and my broker advised me to stick with them."

"You mean you've already invested in the company?"

He nodded. "It's multiplied dramatically; tech is the big thing now." Edward looked at Anne's betting slip. "You know, these winnings could buy a lot more stock too. ... It'll pay for her education and set her up for life. She deserves the very best. Anne, we have a genius for a daughter – scary, but a genius!"

His daughter was stomping her little feet hard on the carpet synchronised to the music. " _I thed, Time! Time! Time! ith on my thide."_

.

~~~ Talking To One's Self ~~~

Over a year passed by in which Hermione learned to dilute her lucid, mature intervals so as not to worry her parents. They never lasted long enough for her to achieve much other than make notes ready for that day when hopefully she might awaken fully and continuously to her original memories. And sometimes... sometimes she would write to her younger self, preparing her childish emotions for that event...

Little Hermione sunk low in the back of the car to hide an aggrieved expression as Mrs Granger drove her home after a bad first day of a new school year. The child hadn't meant to get into trouble. It certainly wasn't _her_ fault that Rodney Thompson's shoes had refused to trip up Sally Biddle. Instead they'd run off with him screaming round and round the playground. Not content with that, the shoes then ran him into the caretaker's shed and the door locked itself without even a key! Why was it always _she_ who got the blame! And why did these things only happen to her!

Once through the Grangers' front door, she ran upstairs to her room and flung herself on the pillow. _Mummy hates me because I'm a freak. I'll never, ever be normal. If only I had–_

She stopped sobbing and sat up, rubbing her eyes. _If only I had a best friend who really knew ME! Of course I do!_ The young girl had waited longingly for this day then had forgotten because of the misery of the school episode.

Hermione sprang off her bed and stared at the carefully-ringed calendar on the wall, nodding to herself in confirmation that she hadn't got the date wrong, then opened her desk and slipped a finger behind the loose wooden board at the back. Several envelopes were there that she'd found lodged under her pillow on different days during the summer months. She carefully pried out the latest one which was still sealed, and re-read the message upon it to be sure:

 _PRIVATE! For Miss Hermione Granger ONLY!_

 _Only to be opened on 1st September, 1986._

She tore it open and began to read aloud:

" _Hello, Hermione,_

" _It's me again – your big 'sister-friend'! Your older self!_

This wasn't the first such message but even so, Hermione's mouth fell open wide and she blinked away the last of her tears, entranced by what she was reading.

 _Awful day, huh? Yes, I well remember that return to school for your sixth year and that bully – serves him right! It was definitely NOT your fault! But the worst part was Mum's disappointment in you; it felt – and feels – so unjust. But don't worry, it's only because she loves you so very much!_

 _I told you before that you are special and these experiences happen to you for a reason. You will learn to control and hide the power that is within you. These 'accidents' are triggered by strong emotion and the same probably applies to your growing recollections of your 'other life'. Perhaps I can help you there. Now I want you to read the next paragraph very carefully and see if it stimulates a memory..._

 _Remember your 'imaginary' friend, Harry Potter? Well, he's a real little boy and one day you will meet him. Harry is to be your best friend and he will like you very, very much!_

Hermione's face beamed with joy. "I jutht knew he wath!" She hugged the letter to herself for a few seconds before continuing...

 _In a few weeks you will be seven years old. Seven is a very special number and I am hopeful you might make a breakthrough in your understanding. I cannot say much more until then._

 _Your dearest, caring soul – YOU!_

 _I am yours,_

 _Hermione_

Hermione smoothed her hand repeatedly over the message, as if to touch her point of contact with another universe – a world she could only hazily recall now and again. But her recollection of Harry Potter was a little stronger now. She closed her eyes and dwelt on the faint memory of an old man wearing glasses – no! He was surely not quite that old but... almost middle-aged, careworn and broken, hair greying before his time.

She sighed. _So, how could he now be a little boy?_ How was she to ever find him? And what if he didn't like her?

She went to her dressing table and stared in dismay at the scruffy sorrow-streaks down her face. As she hastily tried to rub them aside, her mouth was gaped wider, causing her over-sized teeth to protrude even more. With a wail, she instinctively covered them with a hand then grimaced. Thick bushy hair, which had become dishevelled when she burrowed into her pillow, now spiked up at all angles, making Hermione feel like a thorny briar after an unfriendly wind. Shaking her head did not help. The reflected face screwed up again and she fought back more sniffles...

.

~~~ Ironing Things Out ~~~

A couple of Saturdays later, Mrs Granger was pressing her husband's cotton shirts in the lounge. The air carried a warm toasted-linen smell that her daughter breathed in with great satisfaction as she typed on her BBC Micro computer. Although the weather was cool, the sky was bright and the roofs of the houses on the other side of the road shone in the autumn sunshine. The little girl released a sigh of contentment.

"Hermione, have you made up your mind yet where we'll lunch for your birthday next weekend? There are only five days left to decide," said Mrs Granger, with one finger pressed upon the wall calender. "You don't still want to go to–?"

"Peppery Pathty Paradithe!" announced the child, nodding her head vigorously.

Her mother pulled a face. "But we often go there. Don't you want to eat somewhere more special for once? We can drive into London if you like – make a day of it. You'll be SEVEN, remember!"

Her daughter gawked, open-mouthed, as if mesmerised; the significance of the number had slipped her mind but now the import of the message from her other self came back with full force, _THEVVEN! THEVVEN! ... SEVEN!_

A flood of remembered ideas engulfed her thinking like a tidal wave. _Harry needs your help! Gather yourself! Prepare!_

Her mother continued, unaware that anything momentous had occurred, "Then we'll visit a bookshop like we agreed. You can have one storybook and one sensible book on any subject you like. Do you want to go to Waterstones or Foyles?"

"Mum, there's quite a good one on Charing Cross Road; can we go there?"

Mrs Granger hesitated with a puzzled expression on her face but, distracted by a loose thread on a shirt collar, she simply murmured, "Yes, of course."

"Might we take the A3 route then divert through the east of Surrey? It's only an extra fifteen minutes and there's very pretty countryside and villages if we go that way."

"I don't see why not." Mrs Granger frowned inwardly as she slid a coat hanger into a neatly-ironed shirt and hung it on a clotheshorse. Something seemed not quite right...

"And..." persisted Hermione.

"What, darling?" Mrs Granger was back at her ironing board and reaching for another shirt. She scrutinised this one more closely to see if any of the cuffs were frayed.

"Mum, could you... there are some extra things I need – for erm... my studies, I mean. Would it be possible... I mean, would it be awfully rude of me to ask... if Dad might lend me some money?"

Mrs Granger laughed as she carefully laid aside her steam iron with a hiss, while she crouched down to hug her daughter. "You don't need to borrow from us, sweetheart! We're your parents! We'll buy you what you need."

"Mmm... there's rather a lot – books and uuh, cookery tools and jars, and erm... things. I want to prepare for uumm... secondary school you see. I know it's a long way off but..."

"Well, if you're sure." Though preoccupied with tweaking her steam setting, Mrs Granger again felt a niggle of doubt...

"It's not for my birthday – I'd even give up my presents. This is why I... I'd like to open a savings account. I have an idea for an investment too – that will pay for what I need."

"An investment?" Anne Granger smiled wryly. "You mean like Daddy's shares?"

Hermione hesitated. "Like... Intel."

Mrs Granger gasped. Those five letters had haunted her since Hermione wrote them six years before.

"And Last Suspect," added Hermione, searching her mother's expression carefully.

Anne Granger sank down onto a chair, struggling with her emotions. "It's _you_ again, isn't it? That _other_ girl," she murmured, unsure of herself.

"Mum, I'm your little Hermione and I love you very much." Hermione went over and held her mother's hands while she explained, "There are some things I need to tell you but I don't know if you'd believe me."

"We have to try?" said Mrs Granger, tearfully.

Hermione nodded, and after a while, her mother nodded too. The young girl drew a deep breath before continuing.

"You must believe me when I tell you that I'm still your six-year-old Hermione with a child's emotions and feelings, but more and more I am discovering within myself... special abilities and... knowledge. This information makes it clear I have a duty to perform for... well everyone really. It's extremely important, Mum. Will you help me?"

"With what? What's this about, Hermione?"

Hermione sighed. "You've seen me predict things that have not yet happened, right?"

"Yes..."

"That's impossible, isn't it? It's not scientific, is it? It makes no logical sense, surely you agree?"

"Yet you did it. How? How did you do it?"

"Using magic, Mum. Magic is real."

Mrs Granger stared at her daughter for several seconds, then jumped to her feet. "Oh, no, you're not getting involved with black magic! Who's been talking to you! Someone at school? What did they tell you!" The woman's eyes turned rapidly within, then widened as new fears occurred to her. "What have they done to you!"

Hermione bit her lip, bracing herself... "I knew I'd have to show you eventually. Will it convince you if I conjure up a vase of flowers?"

She leaned over and with a wave of her arm, did so. Her mother stared in astonishment at the bowl of violets that was now nudging aside the teapot on the coffee table. But the adult saw only what she expected to see; her daughter had apparently lifted it up from below.

"Where did you get those!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Clearly, she'd have to perform something more dramatic. "What if I make Dad's shirt continue pressing itself?" The half-ironed garment that still remained on the ironing board duly sat up, and one sleeve reached out to grasp the iron...

"Stop! Stop!" cried Mrs Granger, horrified.

"Or if I disappear before your eyes!"

There was a soft pop, a knock on the door, and Hermione walked into the room almost before her mother realised she had vanished.

"Stop this at once," shrieked her mother, hands clutched to her face. "It can't be... there can't be such a thing as magic. Who arranged all these tricks?"

"They're not tricks, Mum, and nobody arranged them. If you don't believe me, then you ask me to do something that would have been impossible to predict, something nobody could have arranged before."

Mrs Granger was shaking her head; her lips were set very firmly. She said, "I suppose pulling a rabbit from a top hat is out of the question?"

Over a century of perfecting her wandless magic, made such a task ridiculously simple for Hermione Granger. She conjured the hat and lifted out a little white baby rabbit.

"Just a trick!" Mrs Granger looked wildly about, then pointed. "Open that window!"

Hermione barely lifted a finger and the top of the sash window slid down a few inches.

"Not that one – the bottom one, the one that's been jammed since last year!"

With an enormous creak, the lower window rose up. Frantic now, Mrs Granger pointed outside, "The Hansons! They're always parking their damn Peugeot on our front!"

With a lurch and a metallic creak of its suspension, the vehicle sprang into the air and settled itself across the road, almost wobbling a passing cyclist off his bike. Mrs Granger clutched the window frame weakly as she turned to her daughter. Her voice was an almost inaudible, frightened whisper... " _Make it rain. Nobody can make it rain._ "

Hermione winced and stared up at the sky. Wizards had never truly mastered the weather because most attempts had resulted in serious and often terrifying consequences. "This will take me a few seconds and it will only be local conjured water..." She closed her eyes to concentrate. Only when she heard the heavy patter of raindrops on the window panes did she open her eyes and close the window. "Do you believe me now?"

Mrs Granger stared for a long time at the blue sky beyond the rain-streaked glass, then she went and sat down on the couch, deep in thought and quietly crying to herself.

"Is there anyone else making you do this? Is anyone else involved? Has anyone hurt you?"

Hermione smiled. "No, Mum, it's just me. Of course..." – again she hesitated – "I'm not the only one in the world who can do magic."

"There are others? You've seen them?"

"No, Mum, I've not seen anyone but my... insight informs me there are many thousands around the world."

Mrs Granger stared mournfully at the busy shirt which had now gleefully started work on a pile of tea towels. The white rabbit looked on with its nose twitching inquisitively.

"Oh, Mum, magical folk can help us! They can help non-magical people, and we can help them." Hermione's mouth twisted up as she recalled the previous fate of the human race. "In fact, they'll need to if... that is, well, let's just say the prospects for the world are not great without a blend of science and magic. I think it was meant to be; the human race has evolved two survival skills which complement each other."

"And you can see this in the future? Like you could see Intel's share price improving? Like you saw the Grand National winner?"

"I can see what will happen if mankind relies too much on natural science while magical folk fight with each other over whether to control or ignore them – everyone fails! Muggle civilisation needs magical support and guidance, and most wizards don't realise how much they already depend on goods and services provided by technology – cars, radio, even house bricks."

"Muggles? Wizards? So you're a...?"

"I'm a witch, Mum: pointed hat, flying broomstick, cauldron, magic wand – the lot."

Burning with curiosity, the little rabbit hopped up on the ironing board to study the shirt's progress more closely.

Mrs Granger shuddered. "You have to give me time, Hermione..."

"NOOO!" shrieked Hermione, rescuing the baby rabbit from the shirt's clutches as it swung the steam iron...

The alarmed girl popped the rabbit back into the hat, vanished them both, then undid the charm on the animated shirt. Only a neat stack of laundry remained behind as the ironing board strut-scissored out, carrying the iron to their usual place in the hall cupboard under the stairs. Hermione vanished the flowers – despatched the tea tray to the kitchen for good measure, then turned back to her mother, realising how this was all too much for any non-magical to adjust to quickly.

"I'm sorry, Mum, but I need you to get a grip right now. I don't know how long my current perception will last – minutes? hours? days? Dad'll be home soon and–"

"Omigod! Your father!" Half-rising from the sofa, Mrs Granger pointed frantically at the clock on the mantelpiece. "He'll never believe in any of this no matter what we tell him. What on Earth do we do?" She sank back onto her seat and closed her eyes, wincing in despair.

Hermione bit her lip, unsure how to answer. She went to the window to stare out. All of her rain had fallen. Another car drew up outside where the Peugeot had once marked its territory. The driver got out and frowned in puzzlement at the wet road glistening in the early evening sunshine.

Her mother was now staring blankly at her husband's photograph above the fireplace as she continued babbling frantically to herself. "We must be subtle... a gradual approach, yes? Acclimatise him to say... a simple card trick first... 'pick a card, any card' – that sort of thing..."

"Mum..."

"Then when he accepts that, go on to... tipping over a balanced coin from say, six inches away..." She made a wild, jabbing motion with her fingertip.

"Mum..."

"I'll explain it as telekinesis!" Mrs Granger sprang to her feet, staring into the fire, her confidence growing. "Edward might find it easier to accept his daughter has some kind of paranormal mental ability that–"

"MUM!"

Her mother blinked in bewilderment as if she had only just remembered that Hermione was there.

"Yes, dear?"

"Dad's already here," said Hermione, pointing to the open doorway where her father stood listening.

"What's up?" he said.

"I'm a witch, Dad," said Hermione, whisking her arm about as if she had a wand.

"Yeah, I know. What's for dinner, Anne? Have we got any paella prepared? I'm so famished my stomach is actually using Morse code to–"

"Y-you ... know? What d'you m-mean, you know?" said Anne, stumbling over her words.

"Of course. ... Oh, come on, Anne! Those predictions? All those books flying off that shelf when she was younger? And that time you wouldn't believe me when I said I hadn't repaired your vase? And what about that Thompson boy getting locked in the school shed without a key? And then there's–"

"But why didn't you say something!" shrieked Mrs Granger.

"Because you'd never have believed me!" cried Edward. He eased his voice down a little and added a touch of an apologetic tone, "I thought I'd wait until she's grown up and can explain it herself."

"GROWN UP! She's way past that, Edward – she's a god! Peugeots and rabbits and shirts and... she made it fuggin' RAIN, Edward!"

"MUM!"

"A goddess, I think you mean, Anne," said her husband with a sympathetic grin as he put his hands over Hermione's ears.

"It's not funny, Ed!" cried Anne. "You wait till–"

Hermione cut her off by waving her arms between her parents. "Sorry, both of you, but we may be in a hurry so–"

There was a dull thunk from the fridge in the kitchen. The room door swung open and a huge bowl of Paella flew in, escorted by plates and cutlery and three colourful lap trays. As they came in for a perfect three-point landing on the coffee table runway, the Paella began to steam and serve itself with a big wooden spoon.

"Dad, that one's yours," Hermione said briskly, "Mum – there you go. ... Come on, I'll explain what's going to happen on my birthday next week while I still can. You'll need some less conspicuous clothing – long and dark with a hood will do – I can modify your old trench coat, Dad. Then we have to rehearse..."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Sorry this chapter took longer than normal to post but the loss of reader statistics and the website crash a couple of weeks back broke my routine. The total silence from the owners didn't help my mood either!_

 _Note that, in Deathly Hallows, Moody says the Ministry detects any magic performed near a magically underage witch or wizard, but in my story, Hermione's magical age is over 130 so the trace can't detect any magic near her at all. Of course, if she is visibly seen to use very advanced magic then she'd have some explaining to do! Her physical birth date is recorded at Hogwarts so she'll still get the letter when she's eleven._ :)

 _Many thanks to menm for beta-reading and helping clarify any confusing sections. Thanks also to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

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	4. 0:The Witch Steps Forth

.

 _So far... The Fates provided a means for the aged Hermione to be reborn, and the young child, gaining increasing access to her former memories and powers, has finally revealed to her parents that she is magical. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 4**

 **The Witch Steps Forth**

* * *

.

The Freak

"Are you really sure about this, Hermione?" said Mrs Granger, craning back over the front passenger seat of their parked car. Her husband tapped the driving wheel with his fingertips and stared out at the neat white road sign that said _Privet Drive_.

Hermione unbuckled her seat belt. "Yes, just leave it to me."

Mr Granger switched off the engine as Hermione climbed out. It was a dry but dull day, and the village of Little Whinging, he considered, did not brighten it up one little bit. Everything in the street seemed to be neatly manicured and in its proper place, but all those places appeared dismal and sterile to the visitor. He grimaced. "And Harry lives in this soulless suburb?"

But Hermione was already walking up the path to number four. If Mr Granger could have seen his seven-year-old daughter's face he would have detected both excitement and apprehension in her expression. He saw her stretch up to the bell push but heard nothing from where he was parked at the edge of the pavement. He wound down his window; cool air breezed into the car. Still no sound except a sparrow chirping and the distant hum of the main road.

But he needed no audible indication to tell him that the big, beefy man who emerged at the doorway to confront his daughter was irritated at being disturbed on a Saturday morning.

"What?" demanded the man. Mr Granger could now hear his growl quite clearly, and judging by her sudden agitated movement, his wife beside him could too. Their daughter's voice was much fainter.

"Please, Mr Dursley, I'd like to see Harry Potter."

The man's face slowly turned a nasty shade of puce and his chest swelled with anger. "Dead!" was the first word he uttered. "With his freaky parents!" were the next four, and "Good riddance!" were the final two. He turned away to close the door but Hermione dodged under his arm and disappeared inside.

Mr Granger was out of his car in an instant, his wife following.

They heard the man shout from within the front hallway. "Get out of my house!"

"Hermione!" Mr Granger stood on the threshold, reluctant even then to cross that invisible boundary of decency and respect unless he was certain he had to.

Hermione was standing before an open cupboard below the hall stairway. It was crammed to bursting with odds and ends: a shiny vacuum cleaner, a boxed electric toaster on a shelf, a cracked plastic freezer basket. An opened packet of decorative candles slid out onto the floor, spilling its contents.

"Happy now are you! The Potters all died in a car crash when their brat was still a baby!"

The man continued ranting, shouting at someone in another room – "The ruddy nerve of it!" – then glaring at the other visitors whose toecaps dared to intrude over the inner edge of his welcome mat without permission. "OUT! OUT!"

Hermione's shoulders had slumped. When she turned back to the front door, Mr and Mrs Granger were shocked. The expression of horror and desolation they saw in their child's face cut them to the quick.

"Come along, darling," breathed Mrs Granger, stooping down to take her bewildered child by the hand.

"Are you one of that lot too?" snarled Dursley, eyeing Mr Granger's dark, hooded longcoat up and down. "GET AWAY FROM HERE! Go away and take your freakish whelp with you!"

Mr Granger opened his mouth, then decided it wasn't worth it. He followed his wife and daughter back to the car and drove away.

"I'm so sorry, baby." Mrs Granger was now sitting on the back seat cuddling her daughter. "You'll make other friends."

"Ith thith nearly at Waterthtones, Mummy?" said Hermione, confused as to where they were going and why she felt so forlorn.

Mrs Granger stared down at the top of her daughter's bushy head, then at her husband's glance in the rear-view mirror. "Don't you still want to go to Charing Cross Road, sweetheart?"

"Yeth, Charing Croth Road bookthop."

Mr Granger slowed the car into the curb and stopped once more. "We have to talk to her, Anne. Remember what we promised?"

Mrs Granger shook her head doubtfully. "Right now? Please don't, Edward."

With a look of resolve, the man twisted around in his seat to face his daughter. "Hermione, you told us it was really important we help you buy some books and equipment in a place called Diagon Alley. You warned us that if you... forgot yourself... we were to insist no matter what. You begged us to take this route so you could meet with your friend Harry Potter and then we were to–"

"Harry?" The girl looked up at both her parents. "Harry's dead ithn't he?" She burst into tears and buried her face against her mother.

"It was a traffic accident, darling. You couldn't have known," said Mr Granger.

"Wathn't! Wathn't an acthident!" There was a fresh bout of sobbing. "Bad withard curthed Harry."

Mr Granger stared over the back of his seat at his wife's expression, and she stared back. They had both learned to take their daughter seriously, no matter how strange her utterances, but they were not prepared for this.

"What do you want us to do, Hermione?" Mr Granger said, then added, "Take your time."

"Should we go on, darling?" asked Mrs Granger. She could feel Hermione shaking her head against her.

"We have to," said Mr Granger. "We swore to her."

"Oh, Edward..."

"Hermione, you made us promise," said Mr Granger. "What do you think that means?"

"Meanth you hath to..." mumbled the girl.

"And you can still find your way?"

There was no answer.

With a sigh, Mr Granger started the car. He sat there thinking for a few moments, then proceeded with the journey on which they had set out earlier.

.

Through The Cauldron

"Well, that's the bookshop, but..." said Mr Granger, as they drove up, "it's impossible to park along here."

"Thide threet." said Hermione morosely.

Her father shook his head and turned up the narrow street a little further along.

"It's packed with cars."

"Not all real," said Hermione, pointing.

"What?"

"Jutht park through thothe green carth."

It was an act of great faith that Mr Granger slowly inched towards the end car in a row of about four, expecting a tiny bump, a car alarm, and his quick pullaway with fingers crossed – but nothing of that sort happened. His own vehicle seemed to glide through the green car; ghostly seats, steering wheel faded as they merged into them, and then... he was parked! Where the end green car had gone, he did not know.

He thought for a few moments about their next steps, then, with an uneasy frown he pulled out a hefty leather satchel, patted it once but firmly, then said, "What now?"

Following blind instinct but no real plan, Hermione led them back to Charing Cross Road. She stared at the grubby-looking frontage between the big book shop on one side and a record shop on the other. She placed her hand on the door, feeling the wood surface beneath her palm. There was something very familiar about this...

"That shop's closed down, Hermione," said her mum. "It's empty – look."

"It'th not a sthop!" There was a new spark in Hermione's tone, as if discovering something she had long lost.

"Sure?"

"Yeth!"

Edward looked at Anne. "Okay, remember what we rehearsed? Straight through? Minimum contact? Walk like we're erm... magical? We're the Bradleys? Hermione's erm... Helen, if anyone asks." He looked down at the little girl. "You're Helen, remember?"

His daughter nodded her head cautiously. His wife nodded more nervously as, copying her husband, she pulled up her hood.

Hermione took both their hands and steered them inside, pushing her parents along, but as if _they_ were pulling _her._

The interior was clearly an old pub. It was dark, shabby, and smelt of ale and tobacco fumes, yet its cosy quaintness and the soft murmuring motions of its inhabitants made it as intimately alive as Privet Drive had been uninviting and barren. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. The bar was situated within a welcoming recess and, seated before it, a little man in a top hat was talking to the old man serving him. The low buzz of chatter barely paused when the Grangers strode in.

"Mornin'," said the barman.

"Morning." Mr Granger nodded affably, leaning his head forward to indicate he was only passing through.

While pretending the opposite, he let Hermione push them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard where there was nothing but a dustbin, a few weeds – and no other exit.

"Where now?" he frowned. "It's a dead end."

But, driven by an unknown inner compulsion, Hermione was already counting bricks in the wall above the dustbin. "Free up ... two acroth ..." she murmured, then tapped the wall three times with her fingertips.

The brick she had touched quivered – it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared – it grew wider and wider – a second later they were facing an archway large enough for all of them, an archway on to a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight.

The Grangers stared in amazement. Anne reached out dizzily to lean on her husband.

"Thith ith really it! It really ith!" breathed Hermione, almost to herself, "It'th... Diagon Alley!"

.

Diagon Alley

The sights and sounds, hustle and bustle were dazzling and confusing at first. Apart from the strange, almost medieval garb of the passers-by, there were so many shops it was hard to take them all in.

"Stay close, Hermione. Whatever you do, don't run off," Mrs Granger said anxiously, with a firm grip on her daughter's shoulder.

There was a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest open-fronted store, and Mr Granger hesitated at the wide range of copper, brass, pewter, silver and other unknown metals of which they were made.

"That's on the list – check the list," he said to his wife.

She fumbled a piece of paper from her handbag and they scrutinised it.

"Gringotts – number one priority," they read aloud together, then studied again Hermione's instructions they had rehearsed the week before. Facing the reality seemed quite different.

Anne pulled a worried face. Edward grimaced too, pointing ahead far along the street. "That's the building ... the building where ... _they_ are." He couldn't quite bring himself to voice the name of the creatures that could only exist in fairy tales, but he lifted his shoulders, braced himself, then they marched onwards.

"Stay close, Hermione. Whatever you do, don't run off," repeated her mother.

.

The Lady With Red Shoes

" _Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no, not real... not real... not real,_ " Mr Granger kept muttering under his breath like a mantra.

"I beg your pardon?" growled the goblin behind the till where Edward stood frozen. Seeing goblins along the way, passing them, that was disturbing enough, but to talk to one...

Anne interceded. "We wish to open an account for our daughter and to exchange Muggle money for erm..."

"Gallons," said Mr Granger, recovering somewhat at the sound of his wife's voice. "Galleons, that is," he corrected himself.

The goblin stared blankly back. Was he waiting for something more?

"Oh, yes, right..." Mr Granger hoisted the heavy satchel onto the counter.

While her parents were engaged in this activity, Hermione stared miserably at her reflection in the shiny marble floor. There seemed no purpose in anything they did – though she was not entirely sure why.

A lady's red leather shoes caught her attention as the woman paused to let someone pass. The shoe had a distinctive gold buckle. Hermione looked up. The woman's pink-cheeked face seemed vaguely familiar but she could not recall ever seeing her before. Perhaps it was the dark hair framing her pretty features that made the young woman memorable.

"Come along then, Johnny," she said.

Hermione watched as the lady led her little boy to another counter. The child was gazing around the huge hall with great interest – as were her own parents. She followed the direction of his attention and could not help supposing it was fairly engaging if you were new to the magical world and not feeling so downhearted as she was, and yet...

 _Imagine if that lady was non-magical too! And what if the boy was here for the first time!_ Hermione studied him carefully but he was very average: about the same height as herself, neatly-scrubbed face, and inquisitive eyes darting everywhere... they alighted on her! The irises were grey and he wore no glasses, but she'd have known that look anywhere – as well as the way he raked his fingers self-consciously through his unruly brown hair when he noticed her watching him.

With a gasp and a squeal, Hermione cried out, "Harry! Harry Potter!" and, wrenching away from her mother's grasp she ran to the boy, where she jumped up and down with excitement, gawking at his astonished expression, and scarcely able to restrain herself from hugging him.

But silence had spread like a wave through the great hall, followed by a growing ripple of murmurs... " _Harry Potter? Did she say, Harry Potter?_ "

"You're mistaken, young miss," said the red-shoed lady, very firmly. "This is my son, John."

She snatched something from the cashier who was serving her, said, "Time to go, Johnny," and sped off towards the exit in a great hurry, almost dragging the boy behind her.

Hermione tried to follow but felt a hand on her arm. It was her mother. "It's alright, sweetheart, remember when Grandma died and we sometimes thought we saw her in the street? It takes time to accept the loss of someone you care about."

But her daughter was staring right through her, deep in thought. _Hestia something-or-other! That was her name! But from where?_

She pulled her mother around to her approaching father. "Dad!" As he drew near, she whispered. "A Galleon, quickly, give me a Galleon."

Mr Granger raised an eyebrow at his wife, but she merely shrugged her shoulders. He opened his satchel – which was now bulging heavily – and handed over one of the gold coins.

Hermione dashed to the counter where the red-shoed lady had been served.

"Excuse me, but Aunt Hestia dropped this," she cried. "Could you perhaps, put it in her vault?"

The goblin frowned. "We regret, Miss, that all transactions can only be carried out with the account holder. You must return the coin to Mrs Black yourself."

Hermione stared for only a moment. "Thank you!"

An intense mixture of joy and fear surged then through Hermione. Something wonderful or terrible had happened. The world's events had worked out differently to their original path. Raised in the Magical community, Harry risked being attacked by Voldemort-avengers and accosted by starstruck autograph hunters wherever he went. There was only one Black who could reasonably have been made Harry's guardian: his godfather, Sirius Black – but he was in Azkaban surely? What if his brother Regulus had somehow survived in this world? Was he still a Death Eater, teaching Harry the dark arts and how to avoid the authorities? Or had he reformed? Either way, it was no wonder that the woman pretending to be Harry's mother had been so anxious to get away. The family must be in hiding.

Hermione hastened her parents towards the exit. "Stay close, you two," she said, "Whatever you do, don't run off."

Anne and Edward exchanged glances.

Once outside, Hermione was not at all surprised to see no sign of the red-shoed lady or the boy who was with her.

"Hold my hands, Mum, Dad, and don't let go."

"Don't worry, we won't," smiled Anne to her husband.

The last couple of words were squeezed out of her as if she were being squashed inside a thick, dark, rubber bag. The moment passed, bright daylight opened her eyelids, and a cool breeze stirred against her face. She and her husband stared at the transformed scene: there was a row of grimy houses in front of them where shops had stood a few moments before.

Hermione studied number twelve. Dumbledore, the Secret Keeper, she reasoned, had given her the knowledge, and knowledge was the one thing she had brought back with her from the future – but what if the Fidelius Charm had never been cast at all in this world?

"Tell me, what number house is that?" she said, pointing ahead.

"Eleven. ... Where are all the shops?" said Mrs Granger. "Why has Diagonal Alley...?"

"And that one?" said Hermione gesturing slightly to the right.

"What's going on?" said Mr Granger.

"What number is it?" cried Hermione. "It's important."

Her father sighed. It had been a strange day so far and it was still only mid-morning. "Thirteen. That one's eleven and that's thirteen. Hermione." He decided to be patient and remind her. "All the even numbers will be on the other side of the street – it helps people find an address, remember? Otherwise, they could pass right by it on the other side and have to walk all the way back."

"But we're no longer on a street, Dad," smiled Hermione.

"Of course we – oh!" He had looked behind him for the first time. "You're right, we're not in the alley anymore – it's a square." He shook his head in bewilderment. "How'd we get here? And how strange a house number has been skipped. They don't normally number squares alternately on opposite sides – well, they can't can they? Are we still in magic land whatever it's called? Maybe that's how they do things here?"

"No, Dad, this is ordinary, non-magical London but there is one house hidden here by magic."

"I'll be damned!"

"No worries, I've found out what I needed to know, and we've more work to do!"

.

Knockturn Alley

"Aaaaghh! Don't do that!" scolded Mrs Granger, as again without warning, they squeeze-squashed to a new place. It had the appearance of being a quiet corner in Diagon Alley – only grubbier and darker. The buildings loomed in overhead, obscuring what little daylight struggled down from the overcast sky.

"Sorry, Mum. This is Knockturn Alley. Check number two on your list. Remember what we rehearsed?"

"Uuh... magic wand? Guess we want a magic shop then?"

"Mum, they're all magic shops hereabouts. Now watch your step and don't stray out of my sight."

The nervous parents let themselves be led to an extremely dank and grubby shop with black paint peeling off mouldy black woodwork. Above was a black plank scrawled with dark lettering, _Pilf's Knacks._

"Makes you wonder why they bothered painting it in the first place," muttered Mr Granger to himself, picking at a flake of very dark grey.

"Got the money ready?" said Hermione.

"Oh, right." Looking furtively left and right, he transferred twenty gold coins out of the satchel into his pocket. Hermione then cast a concealment spell upon the satchel.

A bell clacked tunelessly as they entered the shop. Hermione dug her father in the leg as they stood before the counter.

"Er... yes, we wish to purchase a wand for our daughter," he said stiffly.

"What yer take us for?" growled the ragged old shopkeeper. "We don't sell no wands. Only legit pots, pans, copper measures, silver cutters, hide boxes, locks, jus' what yer see, an' you don't see no wands, right?"

Mr Granger took five Galleons from his pocket and crashed them down on the counter. Then another five. A third five joined them. "You don't see no gold either, do you, Mr Pilf?" he said, scooping them up and putting them back in his pocket.

The old man scrutinised him closely. His breath stank and his teeth were rotten. "Not from round here, are yer?"

"Neither is my gold," said Mr Granger. He felt like he was performing in some strange Dickensian play.

"Right then." The man ambled off down a tight stairwell rough-hewn out of the back wall's coarse rock; every footfall creaked on the rickety wooden steps that had been hammered into place.

Mr Granger stared at his daughter for guidance.

"We follow him!" she mouthed.

Wall torches sprang into life ahead as they descended, revealing that the basement also appeared cut out of the solid granite – pale and unyielding. It was oppressive and claustrophobic. Timber racks filled with open boxes lined every wall of long, thin chambers that seemed no more than connected narrow passageways.

The shopkeeper's rags seemed to creep separately from the sway of his crippled gait as he approached the nearest shelf. "Here," he said, pulling out the first wand atop the box close to his hand. "Here's a good 'un. Werf ten but I'll take nine."

Mr Granger glanced at his daughter. She faked a yawn.

"Worth ten a Knut for kindling a coal fire," said Edward. "Where are your real wands?"

"Oh, thothe ith thweet, Daddy!" Hermione dashed along the narrow room to the end then stared around a corner into another passage.

"Oy! Those is adults'. Yer wun't be able ter use 'em. Junior learnin' wands down 'ere..." He pointed the opposite way.

"Whatever my daughter wants, she can have," said Mr Granger, firmly, as he rattled his pocket.

"Right..." The shopkeeper headed after Hermione who had disappeared around the bend. He began muttering something that sounded like ' _spoilt little chit of a...'_ The Grangers hurried after them both.

At the furthest end of this new room, Hermione had already selected a vine wand of nearly eleven inches. "Pwetty stick, Daddy, and pwetty nobblth all awound!"

"It's lovely, darling," said Mr Granger, dryly. He rolled his eyes at her and hissed, " _Don't overdo the baby talk!"_

Pilf turned on Mr Granger. "She wun't be able ter 'andle it! Tha's dragon, tha' is!"

"Eight," said Mr Granger firmly, as he counted Hermione's raised fingers over Pilf's shoulder.

The old man appeared to be having a heart attack. Hermione yawned again.

"Eight," repeated Mr Granger, counting out the gold into his other hand.

"I'll not take less n' nine," said the shopkeeper, miraculously recovering from his seizure at sight of the shiny metal.

"Eight," said Granger for a third time, pressing the coins into Pilf's hand but not releasing them.

Pilf hesitated, trying to stare down his customer. "Right," he said finally, his skinny fingers clawing over the gold. "An' anuvver six fer an anti-trace ring, right?" he added with a sly grin.

"We'll chance it, without," said Mrs Granger, reading from Hermione's instructions.

"Your funeral," growled the old man. "Oy, nah where's she gorn?"

Hermione had sprinted back to the junior section.

"Christmas presents for her friends – her friends," recited Mr and Mrs Granger, starting in unison then both tailing off out of sync.

Pilf looked at them oddly as he passed by with his odd shuffle towards where he had seen Hermione go. He found her with a bundle of trainer wands splayed out in her hands, "pwetty colourth!

"Twelve, the lot," said Edward Granger as he came up behind Pilf and started counting out the remaining Galleons.

The old shopkeeper groaned. "Tha's on'y one gee a wand!"

"Yes, but they're only _junior_ practice wands," said Mrs Granger.

"They's 'elp the young un's focus an' learn, an' th' Trace allows 'em!" yelped the man, going into a coughing spasm. Hermione didn't even bother yawning. Edward already knew the typical price of a youngster's wand from her written instructions.

"But they are restricted to safe spells and limit the power too," said Mr Granger pressing his money into Pilf's sweaty hand and bidding him good day.

.

Farrimond

After making several more choice purchases from the seedy traders of Knockturn Alley, it was late morning by the time the Grangers left the gloomy street, and, despite the grey sky, the brightly coloured shops and wares of Diagon Alley immediately made the day seem more cheerful.

"Are you sure all those junior wands work?" Mr Granger asked his daughter, as they strolled along.

"Dad, they're all made to the same low standard, which is why they are not very popular. Reputable wandmakers rarely stock them, and no one else is legally authorised. But I could tell the bad ones before I even picked them up – the ones I grabbed are all properly focused for an average user. Well... they're nowhere near as refined as a normal wand, but kids can't really control those until they're eleven. These junior wands help guide them until then." She stopped outside Eeylops, gazing thoughtfully in at the owls preening themselves in the window.

"But you're only seven yourself!" said Mr Granger.

"Yes, but I won't use my new adult wand unless I'm... you know, like now." She didn't remind them that she could perform most magic without a wand at all.

A healthy-looking young brown owl caught her attention; the creature was not fussing and parading itself like most of the others. In fact, the pale borders around his eyes made him look quite studious. Hermione led her parents inside.

"Hath he a name?" she asked the shopkeeper, slipping back easily into her lisp for practice.

"Joan, what have you been calling that new brownie?" the man said to a woman feeding a baby owlet with strips of meat.

She looked up to see where he was pointing. "Tha's Farrimond, born to fly true, an' smart an' strong for his age. Twelve-month he be, and eager to work a'ready!"

Hermione looked closely at the bird, unsure how much of the assistant's word had been sales talk. "What do you think, Farrimond?" she whispered. "Will I be of use to you? I shall be sending out lots of correspondence – some of it quite heavy."

The owl seemed to sniff scornfully at the challenge. He held out one thick leg as his measure. Hermione smiled.

"How much ith he?" she called back. The man answered.

"Eleven. Most browns is ten but he's worth eleven." He'd nodded firmly as he spoke, as if expecting to be challenged on the price.

"Daddy? Ith he too expenthive jutht for little me?" She fluttered her eyelashes.

'Daddy' rolled his eyes at his daughter but paid up.

While they were buying a good stock of owl food and arranging for Farrimond to fly home directly, Mrs Granger was studying Hermione's instructions. "The rest of the list is not in any special order you said, so where next? Apothecary?"

They stepped outside where there was more light to read by, but Hermione was considering a purchase that was not on the list.

"No, I want to buy some old newspapers and history books first – not everything is as I expected, and I don't know why."

"Harry Potter, you mean? You're sure that was him in the bank?"

Hermione nodded. "Then I can browse while we have a home-made dinner in one of The Leaky Cauldron's private parlours."

"Good, this gold is getting heavier," said Mr Granger. "I still don't understand why we need this much. Looking at prices around here, we've got enough to buy years of supplies!"

"We're not spending most of it – we're destroying it. I'll explain another time," said Hermione cryptically.

Her father didn't even blink. _Yeah, right, destroy the gold. Makes sense. Why didn't I think of that?_

.

Old News Is Good News

After carefully selecting a few particular Daily Prophets from the newspaper's archive warehouse, plus a visit to Flourish and Blotts, the family was soon anticipating a nice hot dinner in cosy surroundings. A small fire had lit itself in the grate and the warm rosy glow of the wall lanterns added to the pleasant atmosphere as they prepared to order.

"I'll have the roast pork, please, er... Tom, isn't it?" said Mrs Granger, closing her menu.

"Beef and potato pie, thank you," said Hermione.

"Very good," said the barman, "and for sir?"

Mr Granger pursed his lips. "For me... toad in the hole with..." – Hermione was wide-eyed and shaking her head vigorously at him – "Uuh... on second thoughts," he said, "I'll have the chicken – roast that is!" he added hastily, when he saw his daughter's eyes flash once more.

But it was not long after finishing their meal that they began browsing their purchases. After a while, Hermione sniffed disdainfully.

"Found something?" said her mother.

"Usual stuff. Fudge – that's the Minister for Magic – is still taking the soft option. I'm sure Lucius Malfoy is offering his usual incentives. Listen to this..." Hermione folded her newspaper in half and began to read:

" _Thanks to the Ministry's sensible new policies, Hugh Mulciber has been granted an early release on compassionate grounds because his father – who had been pining – now suffers from a weak liver._ "

Hermione flapped the Daily Prophet angrily and scoffed, "Yes, pining for more Firewhisky!"

She continued, " _This leaves Azkaban operating comfortably at half-capacity and great savings have been made by closing the east wing and restricting the wards and guards to the main prison block. Dark violations are now quite rare thanks to the vigilance of our Aurors in diminishing factions like Helm, Black Arc, and the Brotherhood of Darkrise._ "

"That's what we like to hear," said Mrs Granger, only half-listening as she turned a page of the book on her lap.

"Yes – sounds like a great improvement," said Mr Granger, reaching for another copy of the Prophet.

"Mum, Dad... Fudge is renowned for sweeping problems under the carpet," protested Hermione. "I prefer to know what's going on _behind_ the scenes so that..."

But her father was holding up his hand to silence her as he stared at the newspaper he had just begun to browse. "My God – there really is a Harry Potter!"

He held out the Prophet and Hermione snatched it from him. He watched as she absorbed, wide-eyed, the story on the front page.

After a while, she sat back in a daze, staring at the ceiling in disbelief, and wondering if her dying breath upon the Fates' threads had been the cause of what she had just read.

"He's dead. He's really, really dead!" she kept muttering to herself under her breath. The old newspaper on her lap slid to the floor but she did not rise to pick it up; its bold, half-page headline and the article below it were now burned into her memory forever:

BABY REBOUNDS CURSE!  
MARKED AS "HIS" EQUAL!  
YOU-KNOW-WHO IS DEAD!  
DUMBLEDORE CONFIRMS!  
PETTIGREW THE TRAITOR!

" _How?_ " she muttered to herself. " _Why did Tom not make the Horcruxes?_ " Another, more shocking thought, occurred to her: _Without Kreacher's terrible experience in the Horcrux cave, would Regulus not have turned away from the dark side?_

"What's that, dear?" said her mother, who was still leafing through the latest edition of _Significant Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_.

"Voldemort ... the dark wizard who I... expected would be... a severe problem – he's truly dead. And an innocent man has not been falsely imprisoned."

"Oh, that's good isn't it, darling?"

"It'th bloody bwilliant!" Hermione's face was lit up as the truth began to sink in. She was young again! Everything was wonderful!

"Hermione! Act your age!" scolded her mother gently.

Hermione laughed. "I'm seriously thinking of pretending the babytalk for a while. It allayth thuthpithionth! I don't want to show my cards yet and nobody would suspect a silly little girl of very much, would they?"

"Well tone it down a bit, Hermione," said her father, "or it will have the opposite effect."

"Right, no overacting." Hermione made a mental note to practise. The plans she had been making were a matter of life and death – least of all her own.

That brought Hermione back down to earth, and her face darkened once more. In her former life, more of her friends and acquaintances had been killed _after_ Voldemort's death than before. Everyone she had ever known and cared about was lost in the early years of her own life while she herself had lived on for another century. Their faces haunted her still, swimming across her inner vision like accusing ghostly apparitions: Neville and Hannah slaughtered together ... Parvati, her husband Amrit, and their children ... All the Weasleys separately ... McGonagall, Luna before she was even twenty ... Hagrid fed to his own creatures ... Mum ... Dad ...

"Hermione?" Mr Granger put down his coffee.

Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Sorry, Dad."

"What did you see?" Mr Granger wasn't a fool; he knew his daughter was perceiving and knowing far more than she was telling them.

Nor would she. The visualisation of her mother and father's own brutal death agonies was hers and hers alone to bear.

"Only possibilities and warnings..." said Hermione softly, forcing a tiny smile. "Things I am here to prevent. Let's keep reading..."

But Hermione's thoughts drifted distantly from the text before her – far away to Harry Potter. Was he safely under the protection of Sirius? Or suffering the corrupting influence of Regulus? She must discover the truth at the first opportunity.

.

Fair Exchange

There was a sense of triumph when they returned home late that afternoon. All of their objectives had been accomplished, and Hermione was especially buoyant about Harry. After tea they sauntered down the garden.

"How did that goblin get so much into my satchel?" said Mr Granger, staring at the large pile of shining gold coins he had tipped out onto the workbench in the garden shed.

"It's magic," said Anne, as if that was how she intended to explain everything strange in the future.

"Mum's right," said Hermione as she scrutinised the bellows pressure on a new furnace that stood in the corner. "Undetectable Extension Charm to be exact." She hover-dragged a heavy iron mould across the floor close by.

"I'm not sure I'm happy with this, Hermione," said Mr Granger. "You're planning to produce counterfeits, aren't you? To make more Galleons?"

"No, Dad, we're going to destroy the coins."

Mr Granger blinked. "Rrrright... I knew that. ... Uuh... and why exactly are we doing this?"

"We're melting them down into little ingots which we can trade for cash at any High Street gold dealer or jewellers."

"I see..." said Mr Granger in his I-don't-see-at-all voice.

Mrs Granger said quite firmly, "It's magic, Edward."

"Nice try, Mum, but no, we get a much better rate of exchange. We can then use the cash to buy more Galleons at Gringotts."

"Which we can melt down again...?" said her father.

Hermione nodded.

"But that's, uuh... won't Gringotts be out of pocket?"

"No, the value that goblins place on gold – the actual metal, I mean – is somewhat lower than Muggles. It's the crafting and enchantment of it they regard highly. Not even goblin magic can create gold, but they can summon it out of their mountains and streams much more cheaply than Muggles can mine or pan for it. It is so easy for them that the goblins simply draw sufficient gold for their needs and to keep their bank in balance. But to completely set your minds at rest, it is the magical community – including the goblins – that we are going to help, so they will all be better off in the long run."

"Uumm... do you think then I might have a little for the dental practice, Hermione? For fillings and such like?"

"Sure, Dad. Just don't tell the goblins. They value their sharp little teeth much more highly than gold. The idea of crudely drilling away precious tooth enamel to fill with gold instead of using magical protection would be offensive to them."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _The canon exchange rate for a Galleon is only £5 but the gold in it is worth far more to Muggles. In general, the magical community pay no attention to non-magical values or their currency, so have never noticed. Certainly, Hermione isn't going to tell anyone! In time, the goblins will restore their level of coinage without loss to themselves other than the effort of summoning more gold from the ground and transforming it. Hermione is not being greedy; she needs the capital to fund the tasks she must undertake._ :)

 _For those that don't know, 'toad in the hole' is a British meal consisting of sausage baked in Yorkshire pudding batter. (unless you order it at the Leaky Cauldron, of course, when it's erm... a toad baked in a hole._ :)

 _Many thanks to menm for beta-reading and helping clarify any confusing sections. Thanks also to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

.


	5. 0:Reaching Out

.

 _So far... The Fates provided a means for the aged Hermione to be reborn and, at seven years old, she has gained almost constant access to her former memories and powers. On a trip to Diagon Alley, she discovered that Voldemort really is dead, while the 'Boy Who Lived' was not raised at Privet Drive but at Grimmauld Place. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 5**

 **Reaching Out**

* * *

.

Happy Tears

Waking from sleep, a little boy gazed out of his bedroom window at the moon's bright sphere. _Uncle Remus is having fun in the forest tonight..._ The child envied him that freedom. Being Harry Potter meant confinement. He was wanted – but mostly at a distance – by fans, foe, family, and friends of the family. Isolation had seemed a necessity. Still, there was the garden, the occasional shopping trips or to the country under strict supervision, and, of course, his mum and dad loved him dearly so he wasn't too lonely. _How lucky I am that Sirius and Hestia 'dopted me!_

 _When you're eleven, life will open up for you,_ Sirius reminded him in empty moments. _You'll have more friends than you know what to do with! And as for girls...!_ Then Mum would always scold Dad in a playful way which made Harry laugh, though he didn't know why Dad was getting told off. _A girl might be very good company, after all!_

A sigh escaped Harry's lips, very audible in the silence. It would have been nice to have had brothers and sisters... He twisted around on the bed to look across to his mother's photograph on _his_ special shelf. Beside her smiling image was a more sombre picture: that of his grandparents. In the gloom, and without his glasses, he could barely see them waving. They had a sad, serious look on their faces, as though they had lost something very precious, or were signalling goodbye to a loved one. It was his mum who had explained that she was the one they were leaving behind because, while a little girl, she had been accidentally kicked in the stomach by a young Abraxan horse and spent months in St. Mungo's.

Too lazily-sleepy to reach for his spectacles, he squinted, as if he might somehow divine the inner wound that had denied him siblings. Perhaps if he wished hard enough on his magic then she would be healed in the photo before he was born and he might have at least one brother or sister by the time he–

He stared. The picture was shimmering. His dad had warned him about controlling his feelings to limit the effects of accidental magic.

Not taking his eyes off the photograph, he scrabbled blindly for his glasses, lunging and seizing them once a finger had touched the edge of their frame. Curiosity had temporarily driven away his sluggishness. He thrust the glasses on and widened his eyes to gather in as much light as possible.

There was a small human form – merely an outline – partly obscuring the picture, and scarcely visible because the entire bedroom scene was traced by only a few edges of scattered moonlight. His parents often cautioned, _RUN_ if anything suspicious happened, but a six-year-old rarely remembers such admonitions at the time they are most needed – especially when the potential threat was as pretty and harmless-looking as this one.

The spirit – if that is what it was – seemed to him now to be that of a little girl. He was going to be in so much trouble if his accidental magic had summoned a mischievous presence.

" _Hello..._ "

The boy's mouth fell open when he heard the faint voice. He moved his jaw up and down a little, trying to say something in reply, but nothing came out.

" _I regret troubling you,_ " continued the voice, " _I thought you would not be awake at this time._ "

No colour yet but substance was slowly and surely being added to the spiritous silhouette. An idea occurred to the boy and he sat up straighter on his bed.

"Are you... are you my new sister?"

The apparition shook its fuzzy, silvery head and a tiny breath of a giggle came to his ears.

Harry felt the urge to show remorse for what he supposed could only have been his own accidental magic. "I say, I'm awfully sorry if I conjured you up. I didn't mean to... well, I wanted to but... I hope I didn't interrupt anything important."

"You didn't conjure me, Harry." More details of the creature now came to Harry's eyes.

"You're the girl from Gringotts!"

"Yeth... I am. I'm Hermione."

"Uuh... did I summon you? Oh, goodness, if I did! Were you asleep? I'm terribly, terribly sorry. You see, I was hoping for a sister and it sort of popped you out the picture frame–"

"It'th alright, Harry. I can be a friend. Will a friend do?"

Harry blinked, gulped, and thought for a few moments. He'd never been asked that before. Interviews, endorsements, handshakes, yes. He'd even received a request to be exhibited at a party. But few strangers offered _him_ anything – least of all themselves. "That's good of you. You wouldn't mind? How kind you are after I popped you out and everything."

Hermione was finding the manners of this six-year-old Harry quite endearing. "That mutht have been cointhidence. _You_ didn't thummon _me;_ it'th more the other way round, actually."

"You summoned yourself here? ... Oh ... it's not for... not for an autograph is it? We get flocks of owls with signing books attached. I'm not supposed– I don't mind though, really, I don't," he added hastily, waving his arms madly. "You can have a dozen autographs a day if you like and don't tell anyone. I've been practising signing properly with all the letters joined up. Would you like to see?"

He swung out of the bed and went across to a low table under the window where he crouched and reached for a small quill. Hermione floated over and watched as, with tongue between his teeth, he smoothly stroked out his name on a sheet of parchment. "There!" He held it up and turned to see if she approved.

Though still tenuous and silvery, her face was now fully formed. Harry's eyes widened. "Oh, you can smile! I worried you might be sort of stuck like granny's photo." He waved in its direction and, noticing her curiosity, added, "Would you care to see my shelf?"

He trotted over. Hermione floated after him, noting how much brighter the house's decor was compared to her former life. A set of broad yellow shelves framed by two white wardrobes were mostly arrayed with the usual bedroom bric-a-brac, but the second from lowest was strewn with photographs and numerous personal effects a boy might cherish: a brass alligator robe-clip biting on a fancy ring with badly-matching cufflinks tangled through it, a smoothly-rounded, coloured stone centred carefully upon a gold coin, a large dog-collar tightened around a hand mirror, and a scratched magnifying glass lens.

"All my most favourite things are here," he began. "That's Grandma and Grandad Jones. This other one is Uncle Regulus, and this one's Mummy and Daddy. Oh, and here are my first parents – I've got two mummies and daddies, you see," he added proudly. "Here's a really neat pebble from Brighton where we went on holiday last. There were lots but Dad said this is the best one and we were lucky to find it – oh, yes, this is my own Galleon! It tosses itself and spins heads or tails for games and things! Shall I show you!"

But Hermione was staring at the image of Sirius Black with his arm around the red-shoe lady, Hestia– "Joanth!" said Hermione, "Your Mum'th name wath Hethtia Joanth!"

"Yes. Summoning makes you talk funny – did you know? What happens when you're not summoning about and all that? Do you squeeze back into pictures?"

Hermione wondered if she should cut back on her fake lisp. "No, I live in Elmbridge."

The small boy thought about that for a while. "Do you go in the street sometimes? I do, when it's allowed. It must be jolly, seeing you in the street." He reached out tentatively, but his hand passed through her shoulder.

"Uthually, I'm tholid, jutht like you," explained Hermione. "Like in Gringotth last week, remember?"

Harry's eyes grew as large as saucers. "Mum lets me go with her sometimes! I could see you properly one day. What day is your account? She goes on a middle Friday of each month."

"That wath my birthday."

"Mine's July the thirty-first! How old are you?"

"Theven."

"I'm six. What's your– oh, I forgot your name! I'm dreadfully sorry!"

"That's alright. I'm Hermione."

He mimed with his lips, unsure how to say it.

"Hermione," she repeated more slowly. An immense desire arose within the young girl to hear him say her name for the first time in a century. She tried again. "Her ... my ... oh ... knee."

"Her ... my ... oh ... knee," he enunciated very slowly and carefully. "Hermione." He seemed to be savouring the word. "That's the best name I ever heard! ... Could we write it for my shelf?"

Choked by a fierce surge of emotion, Hermione was unable to reply. She drifted after him back to his little table under the moonlight. He wrote an 'H' then hesitated. "Might you help me spell it, please? I'd be very grateful." When again she didn't answer, he whirled his head around to look at her expression.

A trail of silvery, weightless teardrops glistened in the air behind the translucent girl.

His mouth fell open again. "Is the summons hurting? Shall I fetch Mummy? She can kiss things better – truly, she can!"

More tears floated left and right as Hermione shook her head. "It'th alright. I'm jutht happy."

In wonder, he reached up a fingertip to the nearest ghostly droplet, then let his hand fall. His eyes were beginning to droop with the sudden sleepiness that graces young children. "I wish you were real..." he murmured drowsily.

"I am real," whispered Hermione, as she watched him slump softly down onto the carpet, eyes fully closed now. The faint silvery light suggested his hair might still be half-brown from his bank visit, but whether his eyes remained grey she'd been unable to determine.

Silently, she drifted him back into bed and summoned up the bedclothes. He never felt the ethereal kiss she feathered onto his cheek, but in the morning he would find her completed name on his special shelf with one magical teardrop floating above it.

For her part, Hermione Disapparated back to her own bed in Elmbridge, and lay awhile reviewing the visit and rejoicing in how unspoilt the child was. That had to be Hestia's sensible restraint – for Sirius would dote on his adopted son. The house at Grimmauld Place was much more bright and cheery than it had been formerly – again, surely a sign of a loving mother's touch.

Fatigue reduced the analysis to dream-dozing. Her own spell of immateriality had wearied her. Even partial invisibility together with non-solidity could not be sustained without a cost, but she'd had to be ready to fade rapidly should Hestia or Sirius have approached the bedroom. Anyway, she reminded herself, the intention had not originally been to interact with Harry yet; the wakeful boy had surprised her. She was glad now he had. And with that happy thought, she fell fast asleep.

.

A Little Sweetener

Regret did not trouble Hermione when she arose the next morning, but she was concerned nonetheless, and various thoughts kept turning over and over in her mind as she dressed herself. The floating immaterial teardrop magic would fade within days and likely only a house-elf might notice it during that time. Hermione had printed her name as separate, upright characters, not too different from Harry's own capital 'H' so probably they would assume he had written it himself. Hopefully, Sirius and Hestia would regard any mention of her by Harry as an imaginary friend, just as her own parents had. With luck, his drowsiness towards the end of her visit might induce the child to suppose or be persuaded that he had dreamt the whole thing.

"Hermione!"

"Coming, Mum!"

The young girl sighed and headed downstairs for breakfast. How was she to become Harry's friend more openly if he was so well protected? Perhaps when she gifted him one of the junior wands, that might break the ice with his parents and then–

"Toast? Sausage cob? Bacon sandwich? ... Or just cornflakes?"

"Thanks, yes – no sweetener."

"Since when?"

"Oh, right... just a little perhaps. Dad already gone to work?" She glanced out the window to where Farrimond had taken up residence in their larch tree.

Mrs Granger nodded and tilted the packet. Hermione half-listened and watched as the golden cereal pattered and rustled into her dish, but her attention was elsewhere. How was she to get the wand to Harry? Her first visit to Grimmauld Place had demonstrated the Fidelius Charm still regarded her as a 'secret-knower' – that must have been imprinted onto the magic and knowledge she had retained from her other life – but she could hardly walk in on the family without an invitation or explanation.

"What snacks do you want for playtime?"

"Oh, Mum! We've not had playtime since nursery school! We have 'recess'."

"Pardon me for living! Define 'recess'."

Hermione shook her head mockingly and smiled. "Recess is when the kids have a short period of leisure time outside, free from lessons."

"And 'playtime'?"

"That's when the infants have a short period of leisure time... outside, erm... free from lessons."

"I rest my case. So, what do you want for _playtime?_ "

Hermione grinned. "Any of those baby carrots in the crisper?"

"That all? I'll put in a couple of crackers as well..."

What if she knocked on the Blacks' door and offered the wand gift-wrapped? She might say an older friend at Hogwarts had asked Dumbledore to give her the address. Yes, that was one-third true; Charlie Weasley had been a true friend to conceal her whilst Macnair's gang gutted him and strung up his intestines...

"Eat up – don't want to be late for _kindergarten_." Mrs Granger smirked as she emphasised the last word.

Hermione crunched, not really enjoying the meal anymore, but grateful, at least, that she had not accepted the sausage.

What had Harry said about autograph books arriving by owl? Yes, his family can receive owls, of course, for the magical creatures home in on the person not the place, and the Blacks must have provided blind access through an open window. That's what she'd have to do in the hope of making some degree of contact: Farrimond could take the wand with a nice letter to sweeten up Mr and Mrs Black, and hopefully they might respond. She must not fail Harry this time.

.

A Time of Giving

Mrs Hestia Black stretched back in her favourite leather armchair and eyed the remaining heap of letters and packages in their mail basket rather gloomily.

Sirius saw how tired she looked. "Let's leave the rest till tomorrow, Hest."

"Then there'll be more deliveries, won't there? We'll never catch up." She shook her head at Kreacher, their house-elf, who never stopped looking eager to do the work for her.

Sirius said, "No regrets, I hope?"

Hestia's eyes flashed across to her husband. "Never! This is only during the Christmas season. I'd do it all year round if I had to; Harry's worth infinitely more to me than dealing with a few miserable begging letters." She reinforced her claim by grabbing the next packet with renewed vigour.

Sirius smiled as he rejoined her, taking a large envelope. "Next delivery's not till mid-morning. We can do a quarter of these now and the rest first thing tomorrow."

"Half."

"A third."

"Deal!" said Hestia, as she tore away the wrapping from another autograph book. "Notice how they are always new and never have any previous signatures?" She handed the book to Kreacher who inserted a standard apology letter and began rewrapping the delivery.

Sirius read out, " _Dear Harry, please come to my party on Christmas day..._ That's about three of those we've had this week. It'd be funny if it weren't so sad." He skimmed the envelope across to the old house-elf who stretched up and caught it somewhat reluctantly. "Kreacher, bring us another pot of tea here, and keep it hot this time."

"As master wishes. Kreacher is here to serve."

" _Just go,_ " muttered Sirius under his breath, but with a pop, the elf had already vanished to the kitchen.

Sirius let out a long breath. "Well, at least he's not as bad as he used to be, I grant him that. You've done wonders with Kreacher, dear."

He grabbed another book-sized package but looked up when he heard no reply. "Hest? Hestia? What is it?"

Mrs Black normally only read the first paragraph of Harry's mail. It was rare for her to continue because after five years she could usually see with one glance the common pattern of the whole message. But this letter she had read right to the end. Twice.

"Hestia?"

His wife handed the letter over while she opened its accompanying parcel. It was an unusually slender packet compared to those they usually received: books, framed fan portraits, frames requesting portraits in oil, and Boy-who-lived tee-shirts, all with additional demands to sign and return.

" _Dear Harry,_ " recited Sirius.

" _Earlier this year, I was so thrilled to discover I'm magical, that I quickly set out to find out all I could about this amazing, happy community of witches and wizards. But it made me cry to learn of the loss of your first parents and the seclusion you must endure through no fault of your own. At least you again have a wonderful, caring mother and father._ "

Sirius glanced up briefly at his wife before continuing.

" _I resolved to try to bring you some cheer by saving up my sickles for a nice Christmas present. Everybody loves Christmas, don't they! I thought long and hard what to get you. Mummy said all wizards probably need a magic wand to wave about so that's what I set out to buy you. But last week the man in the shop told me I had nowhere near enough saved up and was only able to offer me a toy wand – though he did say it worked a bit. There was no way for me to be sure until I can afford one for myself as well. I just did not want to swish yours until you'd had a swish yourself!_ "

There was a hiss of wood through the air and the room lit up with coloured sparks of light. For a while, Sirius stared at the wand that Hestia held in her hand, then he turned back to the message.

" _I hope you might try the wand anyway, and accept it in the spirit with which I send it. My dearest wish is that it will bring you a little happiness this Christmas._

" _With all my love,_

" _Hermione_ "

"It appears to be a child's training wand, not a toy at all!" said Hestia. "We'd talked about getting him one when he's seven but there's no reason he can't begin now, is there? We must write back and thank– what was her name again?"

"Hermione – but there's no full name."

"No? There must be! How did she suppose an owl could possibly–?"

"Bring her something back?" said Sirius. "I don't think she was trying to get anything from Harry at all."

They couple sat in silence for a while, looking at each other.

"She bought Harry a wand. An actual wand," said Hestia.

"Even before she considered buying herself one," nodded Sirius.

"We have to find who she is," said Hestia. "At the very least, send a thankyou note from Harry."

"How?"

Hestia frowned, trying to think. "The letter said something about discovering–?"

Sirius stared at the letter again. " _...discovered that she was magical..._ "

"So she must be Muggle-born?"

"Seems so."

"And of school age – quite young by the way she writes, no more than ten I would think. So... we'd have to search Muggle primary school records..."

"If she's eleven, she'd already be at Hogwarts, right? I'll ask Minerva if they've got anyone named Hermione. Perhaps she might– hey! We're forgetting, her name will have been down since birth anyway, even if she's only ten!" Sirius whipped out his wand. "Expecto–"

"STOP, STOP! Sirius, it's gone midnight! Likely Minerva will be asleep!"

"Oh, right..."

"Time we were too. Let's leave this lot till the morning."

Sirius nodded, yawned, and, after only a few more minutes of consideration they both Disapparated upstairs, leaving only the sound of a faint double-clap behind them.

There was another louder snap. Kreacher stood there mournfully holding a tray. "Poor Kreacher does his duty. ' _Bring it to us here'_ , Master said. ' _Keep it hot'_ , is Lord Black's demand. Nobody thinks of poor Kreacher keeping tea hot here all night, oh, no..."

.

A Good One

"Sorry, Farrimond," said Hermione, hugging her coat around her shoulders against the wind. "Yes, I know I said I'd be sending out lots of correspondence, but it will take time for more magical people to get to know me. Both of us must be patient. I miss them all so much – even more now they are alive again and so close."

There was the smell of snow in the air but she knew it was unlikely to fall this far south. Hermione tried to recall if there had been a white Christmas in 1986 the first time around. She shook her head. This was the year she had been given her first, and only, two-wheeler bicycle and had fallen off on Boxing Day, grazing her knee on the dry pavement. Wait! There had been a decent snowfall in January. ... Had Harry even seen snow?

The sky remained grey and empty when she craned her neck upwards for another of so many searches that morning. "No sign of any other owls, I suppose, Farri?"

The owl ruffled its feathers and Hermione sighed. "I'd hoped for at least an acknowledgement – just to establish a first contact. Do you think perhaps I wasn't subtle enough by omitting my surname? Or too subtle? Surely they'd figure out they could ask Minerva? I suppose they get zillions of letters. Oh well, I'll try again in the new year."

"Hermione! Are you helping or what?" – her father's voice – "These decorations won't put themselves up!" There was the sound of laughter from the house.

 _Not without magic, they won't,_ mused the young girl. "Coming, Dad!"

It was fun pinning up colourful streamers by hand, making the pleasant diversion last, and saving her magic for those awkward corners of the ceiling that even her father couldn't reach without a stepladder.

Mrs Granger was starting on the walls, pinning up paper pompoms and half-unfolding honeycomb trees – still getting a satisfying thrill from imagining the other half of each tree was inside the wall. She looked sideways self-consciously; Hermione was smirking at her soppy, sentimental expression. "Scoot! Get the cards!" said her mother.

"Right here, Mum. Quite a haul this year; we'll need to string some along the wall."

"Tinsel – use the silver tinsel. I got extra."

She stepped down from the chair on which she had been standing and reached for another box.

Mr Granger was at the front window, grumbling to the room in general, "Where's Don got to? He said he'd drop the tree off half an hour ago."

"Traffic probably," said Mrs Granger. "It's Christmas eve this morning, remember? Last minute shoppers? He'll probably come around by Long Lane. Stop pacing and help with the ceiling."

He pulled a face, but dawdled over and began wincing upwards while hinting in Hermione's direction. "What we need is a little magic..."

But his daughter was pretending not to hear. "Mum, shall I still put family cards on the mantel? There's less room this year. Or we could–"

She was interrupted by a knock on the front door.

"That's him now. I'll get it," said Mr Granger, dashing off into the hallway.

"Move those dinky figures onto the top of the TV first, Hermione, no, wait, on the sideboard. Should be enough room then."

"Right."

"Erm... Anne, we have guests..."

Hermione twisted around, a cluster of pottery snowmen in her arms. Coming in behind her father was a long-haired gentleman wearing a smart coat and a broad smile. The last time she had seen that man had been after a far different, long-ago Christmas when, looking desolate, he had hugged Harry goodbye for the last time on the steps of 12 Grimmauld Place.

The ceramic figures crashed to the ground as Hermione burst into tears and dashed forward with a quivering shout, "SIRIUS! ooh..." – she stopped herself – "I'm th–thorry – Lord Black." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand but the young girl was physically shaking, and so was her voice. "I'm... I'm thorry... uuh... I recognithed y-you from the Daily Prophet!" Hermione struggled to bring her emotions under control and think up an excuse. "Y-You're a... hero of mine!"

"Ah, you must be Hermione." He put a hand to her shoulder by way of greeting, and felt her trembling. He grinned sideways at her mother. "Very emotional, isn't she?"

"Uuh... when she's nervous... er... I'm... erm... Anne, uuh... _Lord?_ Black." They shook hands.

"Hardly ever use the title. Call me Sirius, please." He turned back to Hermione. "Now, what's all this _hero_ stuff about?"

But the girl was already staring at the little boy who was being coaxed forward in front of the red-shoe lady, Mrs Black.

"My God," said Mrs Granger, "is this the legendary Harry Potter for real? Or should I say, Harry Black?"

"No, everybody thinks that," said the woman. "Sirius resolved to keep the Potter name in honour of his parents, and I agreed. I'm Hestia, by the way."

The adults shook hands. Harry stared at Hermione. She stared back, wondering if she dared... The explosion of conversation had lapsed into silence with everyone watching the two children. The bushy-haired girl closed the gap to her old friend and squeezed him tight in a big hug. Sirius laughed.

The boy's expression over her shoulder was one of astonishment, but he waited a respectable amount of time before stepping back. "I say, you cry an awful lot, don't you? Oh, you're a real girl! I can feel you!" He gazed in wonder, touching her cheek.

"Wow! You should get out more!" laughed Mr Granger.

"Erm... yeth, I'm real," said Hermione very quickly. She moved an additional step away. To hide her embarrassment, she wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks with her hankie while covertly examining him once more. His hair was black and tousled, just as she remembered it. He wore glasses, and... his eyes were green.

"This is the real me too now," he said. "Not like how I–"

"Would you like to help uth with the decorationth?" she broke in swiftly – anything to minimise the chance of a slip of the tongue that might give away her prior visit.

Harry shook his head as his eyes swept the boxes and packets of ornaments and streamers. "I can't do magic yet."

"Oh, we don't uthe magic to put them up here!" cried Hermione. "Come on, it'th more fun without!"

"How about a glass of wine?" said Edward, veering Sirius off towards the sideboard. He stopped. "Oh, are you driving? No, of course not. Oh wait, here's a good one... You didn't fly here on your ' _witch's broomsticks'_ did you?" Edward gave a hearty laugh.

Hestia stopped her conversation with Anne and looked across the room. Hermione froze with crossed-fingers hidden inside a bag of party balloons.

"Erm... you didn't, did you?" added Edward, rather anxiously.

"Not in this weather," winked Sirius. "No, Apparition, of course."

"Oh, right, haha!" said Edward, nervously sploshing wine into a glass and handing it over. "Would that be a ghostly apparition?" He glanced worriedly towards the front window, hoping he wouldn't see some kind of spectre floating out there. Hestia chuckled softly and raised an eyebrow at Sirius who was holding a straight face with difficulty.

Harry was giggling now too. Hermione was demonstrating how to inflate balloons with a plastic hand pump. He thought it hilariously funny.

"Well then, cheers," said Sirius, once everyone had a drink in their hand and were inhaling its fruity aroma.

"Cheers! Merry Christmas everyone! Have a good one!"

The doorbell rang. "Excuse me, a moment," said Edward, as he headed out into the hall.

"How's London life suit you, Sirius?" said Anne.

Hestia gasped and steadied her drink. Sirius frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

Hermione jumped up, knocking over a box of baubles with a loud tinkle. "I told Mummy, you probably live in London becauth... uuh..."

Sirius raised one eyebrow.

"...becauth that'th where I'd hide Harry if it were me. Theven million Muggles – nobody'd find him in London! Manchethter or Birmingham would do but the accthent would draw attention."

There was a moment's hesitation before Sirius answered. "Smart girl you have there, Anne."

"Tell me about it! Sometimes she's too smart for her own–"

Hermione cut her off, "But how did you find _me,_ Mr Black?"

"Hogwarts. Your name's been down since you were born."

"Hogwartth! I read about it! They'll admit me, you think? I do hope they will. I've not been able to find out yet."

"Definitely," said Hestia. "How old are you? What month is your birthday?"

"Theptember. I'm theven."

Hestia and Sirius's eyes met. He said, "So... you'll be starting the same year as Harry."

"At Hogwarts?" said Harry, who had been playing with a family of snowmen on the carpet. "Me and Hermione will be together at Hogwarts, Daddy?"

Sirius nodded then ducked aside as the top end of a spruce tree came poking through the doorway. "Here, let me give you a hand with that, Edward."

"It'th the tree! The tree!" squealed Hermione, jumping up and down.

"The tree! The tree!" mimicked Harry, scurrying to his feet and copying Hermione's leaps of joy.

During the following hour, Sirius kept grinning as he watched his son excitedly help adorn the tree with bells, baubles, and candle lights.

"This is what he's been missing all these years," he whispered to Hestia. "Yes, he does enjoy it when we swish all the decorations into place in a few seconds, but he can't participate with the magic yet."

"No, Sirius, what's wrong is his not having a brother or sister to enjoy it with him." Hestia looked at her husband's expression. He was frowning. She knew what he would say.

"Not your fault!" he hissed softly.

"Of course it is!" she mouthed, "and we've denied him friends as well!"

"You mean I have," muttered Sirius.

"I didn't say that!" she breathed in his ear, one eye on their hosts. "With the very best of motives, we've been wary of his vulnerability in the magical community. However..." Hestia gestured to the Grangers who were lifting Harry and Hermione up together to pin a puffball on the wall.

Sirius nodded and added in a low voice, "We never even considered a Muggle-raised friend, did we?"

.

School's Out

Hermione did get her bicycle again – and a child's broomstick from the Blacks too – but it was Harry who spent most time riding them both over a Christmas spontaneously shared between the two households. By covert prearrangement, she also received one of her own junior wands from her parents in order to obscure the white lie in her letter to the Blacks. It was a happy season but it worked out better than Hermione imagined.

School loomed ominously in the New Year for the young girl. Spending most of the day sitting in a Muggle children's classroom was not the fun it had been first time around for the bookworm. So she was excited when Hestia invited her to share Harry's home tutoring for two or three mornings a week.

"Can I, Mummy? Can I?"

"Sadly, the education authorities won't allow you to take time off normal school," said her mother.

Hestia smiled. "The House of Black can fix that easily with the Ministry, Anne. Very few magical families living in Muggle areas send their children to Muggle schools. In the wizarding community we find a few mornings' study is more than enough to learn essential life skills, and Hermione's abilities in reading, writing, and arithmetic are probably already better than my own from what I've seen!"

Hestia confirmed by owl a few days after.

"Will you be squishing there or do you want me to take you?" Hermione's mother asked on the first morning as she prepared her daughter's 'playtime' lunchbox.

"No, I won't be able to explain to the Blacks how I can Apparate. I'll take the Knight Bus instead. It's faster than the car, and it will save you driving into London. It can stop right outside and you can watch me get on safely if it makes you feel better."

Mrs Granger shook her head. "I still don't like all these secrets. The Blacks seem a nice family."

"I know, Mum, but remember what we discussed yesterday? What they don't know can't hurt them? I can only let them learn a little so as not to draw the attention of others."

Mrs Granger kissed her daughter goodbye on the doorstep. " 'Bye, Hermione. Be good."

" 'Bye, Mum."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _In response to complaints about Hermione sounding too babyish (at age 7) and difficult to understand – I agree. I've removed the 'Hawwy's and so on from the last chapter and will avoid in future. As for the lisp, this will be mostly fake now because Hermione will remain mostly lucid, and the whole lisp thing will be used only when she's pretending nervousness with certain people. By about Year 2 at Hogwarts I think it will be gone. But while it's here, I'll try to make it clearer and use the letter S less. It's not easy because it's important to the story to know when she's either regressed or is faking it. Remember, just change 'th' to 's' if in doubt._ :)

 _Just so there is no doubt, Voldemort is definitely dead. That was the entire origin of this story idea - to write new material without repeating the old scenes of Quirrell-head, Chamber of Secrets, Tri-wizard Tournament, Horcrux hunting. That's all gone. But an unpossessed Quirrell will be at Hogwarts, minus his turban. Good or evil? You'll have to wait and find out! Umbridge will also return. And Skeeter. But there'll be more villains too (and more payback! heehee!)_ :)

 _Can owls find locations hidden behind a Fidelius charm? I doubt it was intended in canon but I don't recall any specific statement on the matter. I like to think that owls home in on the person like moths to a flame but normally when they cannot find any access they give up and return. However, if say, an attic window is left open with an external sill to perch on then they are drawn to it._ :)

 _Many thanks to menm for beta-reading and helping clarify any confusing sections. Thanks also to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

.


	6. 0:A Very Cross Examination

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione finally contrived to contact Harry by sending him a junior wand for Christmas. Impressed, the Blacks invited Hermione to visit regularly both for play and to share Harry's home classes. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 6**

 **A Very Cross Examination**

* * *

.

Attending

And so the first weeks of 1987 rolled in with happy days for Harry and Hermione. They chatted for hours, and Hermione began to tentatively share more of her secrets with him – but only him. That the Harry she had known formerly was trustworthy she already knew, but she was more cautious with this six-year-old's innocence.

"Hermione, you're talking grownup again," he observed one day as they sat alone in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place. "Sometimes you're quite _old_ -sounding for a small girl. You know things. And do things."

"Best not mention any of that, Harry," she advised him. Wandlessly, she stirred the dozily-glowing coals in the fireplace till they crackled and sparked into new life. "My lisp comes and goes but it's useful to make me sound younger so people don't realise my magic is quite mature. That gives me an edge. You know what an edge is, don't you?"

Harry nodded. "An advantage."

"That's right. And it's the same for you. What if... say one day a friend gave you an invisibility cloak? Bad wizards wouldn't even know you were hiding nearby; they'd go away. But what if they knew you could be invisible?"

His eyes darted around the room as if imagining himself hiding in the shadows behind chairs and cabinets. "They'd search harder. Perhaps try to steal my cloak."

"That's right. Keep your extra magical preparation to yourself. Don't show off when you get to Hogwarts, and that will make your parents – all of them – proud instead. Anyway, we'll protect each other without giving too much away, won't we, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "You meant my first parents, even though they've passed on, didn't you? I can sometimes tell you mean things. Yes, I _would_ like to make them proud one day. I only wish I could sort of... see it in their eyes and hear them say it."

Pressing her lips tightly together, Hermione rubbed her hand through the colourful tufts of the hearth rug where they were sitting together. She thought hard for a few moments. "Harry..."

He gazed at her. His best friend held his attention so easily once she'd said his name.

"Harry, there's something perhaps I should tell you..."

Again she hesitated; his eager expression tugging at her heart. "There is another secret; something only you should know. Only you."

Harry waited.

"In time, your present mum and dad will know but don't tell them till then or they'll wonder how you could possibly know beforehand."

"I won't tell. You know I won't tell!"

Slowly Hermione nodded as she came to a decision. The girl took a deep breath. "When you're eleven you'll be eligible to receive the key to your Potter family vault."

Harry's shoulders dipped a little but he grinned. "Is that all? I already know. That's no secret. Dad told me. He's holding the key for me till then."

"Yes, but when your new mum and dad take you there, you'll find a great heap of gold Galleons and other coins."

Harry smiled. "Dad thought there probably was. He said it's likely the vault holds the Potter family 'heritance. But until I'm seventeen, I can only take out enough for 'sen... umm..."

"...essentials," coached Hermione.

"Yes, like extra books and gifts for friends and sweets and, you know, pocket money to see me through at Hogwarts."

"That's right. But those only scratch the surface of the pile. You can fill a modest bag from the edge of that mound every year – every term even – but there'll still be a big heap left behind."

Harry nodded wistfully. "I'd rather have my first parents though than all the money in the world; Dad tells me about them a lot."

"And that's the big secret," whispered Hermione.

"What is?" Harry said softly.

Hermione's voice was now so low that Harry could scarcely hear her. "If you only take a small amount of gold from the pile each year, you won't discover what lies beneath for a very long time."

Harry stared at his friend's face lit from the side by the flickering firelight.

"Your first parents – Lily and James, that is – had miniature portraits painted of themselves on enamel. They are exquisite in detail and colour, about so high." She held up her hands a few inches apart. "They're in a little box of personal effects in the vault but because nothing has been take out for years, Gringotts' interest simply built up and buried it.

"Why would the goblins be interested in hiding the box?"

Hermione giggled. "It's just a banking word. _Interest_ means that the goblins charge to lend customers money and some of that goes to encourage others to save with them. It magically sprinkles on top. In your case, the pile is big enough that more interest is added than the tiny amount that you'll take out while at Hogwarts."

"So the goblins won't mind me finding the box?"

"Not at all!" laughed Hermione. "It's yours, not theirs!"

"And, the portraits... they're... magical?"

"Yes. But I should warn you that Lily and James will discourage you from erm... chattiness."

"Why? I want to talk to them!"

"They're portraits, Harry. They only represent your parents' appearance, speech, and... their will. They wouldn't want you to become too attached to pictures, but use them in remembrance of your real mum and dad."

Harry thought about this. His puzzled frown was slowly replaced with a nod. "Yes, that's what I want too."

"A wise man once said, ' _It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live._ ' "

"Who told you that?"

" _You_ did! Uuh... I mean, you probably _would_ tell me if... erm... I hadn't just told _you._ See?"

Harry laughed long and hard at the silliness of it and not caring that he didn't understand. Hermione joined in.

"So, when you go to Gringotts," gasped Hermione eventually, wiping her eyes, "examine the pile of Galleons as if you're delighted and fascinated with it, but scoop deep with your hands for the real treasure. Oh, yes and act surprised when you find it else Sirius and Hestia will–"

"–know we have secrets," Harry finished for her.

In time, the bond they had begun to form with each other convinced Hermione that he took seriously the need to keep quiet about her abilities, even though he only knew a tiny fraction of what she was truly capable of. So, she spoon-fed him a little knowledge at a time, gauging what and when he ought to know. Excluded from this private knowledge, however, were his parents and tutor.

Madam Gawtley – formerly Harry's nanny but now his teacher and protector – was a small, grey-haired old lady, round and pleasant. Unlike most home tutors of young children, she had reduced the subjects of the lessons to their essentials, and stayed with them one-on-one until they were absorbed, remembered, and understood. It helped a lot that every topic was relevant to magical living in general and she explained that relevance.

"Are we ready, children?"

"Yes, Madam Gawtley."

"Yes, Nan."

Although there was nothing new in the lessons for Hermione, Madam Gawtley had vastly expanded the Black library with both magical and Muggle reference categories providing a wealth of interest for the young girl. Hermione liked the teacher, and Harry was devoted to her.

"While Harry practises his reading, I'll concentrate on the spell I began teaching you yesterday, Hermione," the old lady said.

The girl carefully took up the stance she had been taught then drew out her training wand and pointed it at the collection of books and papers on the desk on the other side of the drawing room.

Madam Gawtley nodded approvingly. "Let us try for more accuracy today and forget about weight – that will come later. For now, see if you can reach out to the blank parchment of the three you see there, and perhaps stir it a little. Let the wand do the controlling - that's what junior trainers are for. Try to feel that in your magic."

Hermione deliberately focused on all the papers. She made sure her first swishes achieved nothing, then she generated the tiniest flutter – but of the whole pile. She sighed her fake disappointment.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Hermione, it takes time to get it right. Fix your mind on the blankness of that one parchment, that's what makes it different. And don't try to move it away – you won't have the control yet to do that except by accident, so the wand won't let you. What you are doing now is developing the sensation of your magic being directed through the wand. Keep practising."

The old witch turned her attention back to Harry who was softly uttering the text from a teaching manual. Misread and mispronounced words were highlighting themselves on the page in red ink as he spoke.

"That's excellent, Harry. Now let's go over again the words that are wrong before they fade."

"How does it find my mistakes, Nan?"

"Nobody knows. A very clever witch named Pandora loaned me this and she is working to make it even better. It's very powerful magic, Harry."

"But–"

"Later, Harry; we must continue the lesson before the reddening charm expends itself. So... how do you pronounce this word?"

Harry frowned. "Show... lar?"

"Scholar," the teacher patiently corrected.

Hermione smiled, reminded of her own brief career at Hogwarts where, over a six-year period, she had taught Potions, Ancient Runes, and even stood in for Muggle Studies and Defence Against the Dark Arts for a short time. Emptiness had drawn her there, and emptiness had driven her away in the end.

"Focus, Hermione!"

" _Yesth_ , Madam Gawtley."

As soon as the teacher had turned back to Harry, Hermione wandlessly summoned the huge geology book she had stashed on the desk earlier and let it flop open on the table beside her. While swishing away blankly in the direction of the desk, her attention was really on the pages of the book, finally coming to rest on the Velencei Mountains in Hungary. But nothing could she find about the area she knew as Redöi where, perhaps two billion years before, the granite had been rucked and folded back on itself so violently that thousands of vast air pockets had been trapped within the hard stone and isolated many miles below the surface.

Hermione was not surprised there was no mention in this twentieth-century edition of _The Geology of Central Europe_ – the caverns would not be detected for another fifty or sixty years – but she'd had to be sure. Advancing technology and pure chance had made the discovery possible way in the future. Even then, the caves had remained unreachable and soon forgotten by fragmented societies more preoccupied with surviving than investigating unprofitable scientific curiosities. Only two people had ever visited any of the cavernous bubbles in the rock. The butcher Macnair, who, driven mad by solitude, had bashed out his brains on those satanic walls – he was one. The other, the sole person with both the Muggle knowledge and the magical experience to pass through solid granite to an unvisited location, was...

"Hermione Granger! Pay attention or you'll never master the reaching charm! It will form the basis of moving charms that summon and hover when you go to Hogwarts, and make them much easier to grasp."

" _Thsorry_ , Madam."

After fifteen minutes, Hermione yielded to boredom and fluttered the blank parchment an inch or so, and slightly turned it on the desk surface. " _Yesth!_ "

"Very good, Hermione," said Madam Gawtley.

But there had been an odd note to her praise. So much so that after they were dismissed and Harry was ahead of her hurrying downstairs for lunch, Hermione slipped back invisibly along the dark landing and poked her head through the drawing room wall for a few seconds. Madam Gawtley was flipping through the pages of the geology book with a deep frown on her face.

.

The Triapetit

But Hermione's visits were not all work and no play. After most mornings' lessons, she and Harry played and chatted in his room most of the afternoon. As he leaned forward excitedly to consider sending a chess piece on the attack, Hermione feathered aside the front of his hair with her fingers. It was the first opportunity she'd had to closely examine the scar on his forehead. A curious sense of loss arose within her. Gone was the blazing lightning bolt to which she had been so accustomed; _this_ mark was no more than a faintly curving tendril.

Harry seemed not to notice her interest. "Bishop to Queen Five!" he nodded triumphantly.

Hermione's attention was drawn back to their game. "That's totally barbaric!" she cried.

Using his crook, Harry's bishop had pulled off the head of Hermione's cowering pawn, and flung it aside.

"It's wizard chess!" said Harry, gleefully rubbing his hands together.

"But the pieces look so cold and remote with – why are they all wearing those strange visors?"

"Uncle Regulus gave them to me on my fifth birthday. He didn't come at all last year," he added. A sad tone had crept into his voice. "Daddy told him to stay away."

Hermione hid her surprise, and was helped by the sound of raised voices downstairs.

"Daddy and Mummy don't love each other, you know," said Harry, mournfully.

Hermione became quite still. Her expression had risen to astonishment. "Of course they do! Why would you think that? Many people argue now and again. I'm sure it's not important."

"Daddy only needed a mummy for me."

Hermione gasped.

"And Mummy only wanted Daddy and me because she can't have her own babies."

In the ensuing silence, the chess pieces fidgeted about on the board where it lay on the hearthrug between the two children who were now looking closely at each other. The damaged pawn was crawling across the carpet, blindly groping for its head.

"Is that what they argue about?" Hermione said finally, gently teasing the missing head in the pawn's direction with the tip of her finger.

Harry nodded.

"Well then, that proves they care about each other," said Hermione, firmly.

"Why does it, Hermione?"

"Because both must be denying each other's accusations."

Harry considered that for a while. He thought about it until the door was suddenly flung open with a crash. Sirius stood there, white-faced, staring at them both.

"Could y-you... would you come downstairs please, children?" He was shaking.

"We didn't mean any harm, Daddy!" wailed Harry. "We were only talking."

Sirius looked puzzled for a moment but he shook it off. "Harry, you've not done anything wrong. Come along ... both of you. ... Don't be afraid," he added.

His last admonition only made Harry more nervous, and Hermione also felt a growing anxiety as they walked down the stairs. She braced herself.

Kreacher was waiting in the main hall against the open doorway to the front room. "Come along, if you please, Master Harry. Let us see who is out and about in the square this afternoon; you like to look out the window."

Harry twisted back and forth. "I want to go with Hermione!"

"Stay with Kreacher, Harry," said Sirius, firmly, "we won't be long."

The worried-looking man took Hermione's hand – gripping it rather firmly, she noticed – and led her down to the basement kitchen. The thought crossed her mind there were no windows and no other exits except the one door – through which she now saw were Mrs Black and...

"Madam Gawtley, _It'sth_ you! I thought you'd left for the day."

The teacher did not smile as Hermione entered. The kettle was seething viciously for attention on the hob; the long table was bare and unwelcoming. The sound of Sirius locking them in did not comfort Hermione in the slightest, but it did warn her to quickly dematerialise.

" _Stupefy._ "

Gawtley had barely whispered the spell but its effect was immediate; Hermione let herself appear to fall to the cold, stone floor where she solidified once more. Nobody had noticed that the charm had passed harmlessly through her. _So, it begins again..._ she heard herself thinking, _after all these decades..._

"Ingrith!" shrieked Mrs Black, running to the child. "There was no need for that!"

"Oh, Merlin, what have you done!" Sirius joined his wife and they laid Hermione on a bench nearer the warmth of the open hearth. He pointed his wand at the girl.

"Don't revive her yet! We have to be certain who she is first!" said Gawtley, drawing out a small bottle from the pocket of her robes.

"How are we going to explain this to the Grangers!" Sirius ran his hands wildly through his hair. "You've stunned their daughter!"

Hestia snapped, "Ingrith! You can't use that stuff on her; she's just a small kid."

"Is she?" Gawtley held up the vial and shook it eagerly. "This will make sure."

"We have no right to invade her privacy just because of your suspicions!" snarled Sirius.

"My old Auror instincts have kept me alive all these years – and Harry too. That's why you pay me, isn't it?"

Hermione had her own instincts, and she followed them now – but care and subtlety were needed. It helped that Mrs Black was convinced the little girl lying on the long seat was unconscious, so the woman was not expecting a gentle Legilimensic suggestion...

Hestia frowned. An unusual thought had suddenly occurred to her. "The _Triapetit_ then – that's fair."

"What?" said Sirius.

"That's not been used for centuries, I shouldn't think!" said Gawtley.

"What hasn't? What?" repeated Sirius.

The old teacher explained. "Hestia means only three questions are allowed and they must be agreed first. More than three can be proposed but only the agreed three can be put to the accused under the effects of the truth potion."

Sirius frowned. "But surely, nobody would come to any agreement?"

"Then the default three apply as I recall," said Hestia thoughtfully. "Refusing all proposed questions tends to be self-condemning anyway, and the other questions can still be put without the potion. The restriction was to prevent the accused being forced to answer private or embarrassing questions that might not be relevant."

She pointed her wand at Hermione but Gawtley was faster.

" _Incarcerous!_ "

" _Rennervate!_ "

Ropes coiled around Hermione as she pretended to awaken. "Wha...? _Isth thisth...? Where'sth_ Mummy?"

Hestia crouched beside the long wooden seating and took Hermione's hand. "It's alright, darling, we're just going to ask you some questions."

"I want my Mummy!" wailed Hermione, laying it on thick.

They waited while Hestia comforted the child. Gawtley shook her head doubtfully. Sirius frowned. There'd be hell to pay if Gawtley was wrong, and worse still if she was right...

"Hermione, we'll take you home to your mum, but can you first tell us something?" he said.

The bound child nodded sullenly but before Sirius could open his mouth again, Gawtley strode forward, "Who or what are you!"

Hermione cringed her head away as the professor unstoppered the vial.

"Ingrith, please!" cried Hestia. She turned back to Hermione. "It's just so you tell the truth, darling, is that alright?"

"Don't want it!"

"We'll only ask three questions. Can we do that?"

Hermione said, "Which _questionsth?_ I've not done anything."

Hestia looked at Gawtley who directed her words at Hermione, "Identify yourself. Do you mean to kidnap or harm Harry? Any of us? Tell us why you're really here! What are your plans. Do you mean to–?"

"That's enough!" snapped Sirius. "It's sufficient to ask if she means to do us harm or if she has any other motive for being here."

"And identity. We must make certain she is not an adult Metamorphmagus or someone drinking Polyjuice. For all we know she could be a demon straight from hell!" insisted Gawtley.

Hestia shook her head. "Whoever heard of a demon taking human form! They are blind evil and destruction driven by suffering, not stealthy assassins. Anyway, we've known Hermione since Christmas, and everyone knows that demons can only be summoned for a few hours or days – weeks at most – before their master demands they return to Hades for retribution!"

"We still need to ensure Hermione is who she appears to be," said Gawtley.

"Very well," said Sirius. "Will you answer those questions for us, Hermione? Who you are? Why you are here? Do you wish to harm us?"

"Only _thosthe_ three?"

"Yes."

" _Promisthe?_ "

"I give you my word as Lord Black. Do you agree to tell us?"

" _Yesth,_ my name _isth_ Hermione Granger and I live at–"

"First a taste of this..."

Gawtley leaned over. Hermione winced, but then opened her mouth and the teacher let a couple of drops fall onto her tongue. There was no way to break its effects without the antidote, but Hermione had spent almost a year studying how to bend the answers if the questions were not put most carefully, and she was the expert here.

The teacher examined Hermione's eyes closely for a few seconds. "She's ready."

"Hermione, are you...? Who and what, are you?" said Sirius.

"My name is Hermione Granger. I'm a witch. I'm seven years old. I live in Elmbridge with my parents who are Muggles."

"She's not lisping!" cried Gawtley. "I told you she was playacting!"

Through a deep haze, Hermione heard the teacher's voice and realised she was right. Despite her research, she had forgotten that imbibing Veritaserum also ensured speaking itself was without false accents or other deception.

Sirius was waving off Gawtley as he pressed on, "Do you mean any of us harm, especially Harry, and by harm I also mean kidnap, manipulate, corrupt, or change him against his or our wishes?"

"Never! I wish none of you any harm and especially not Harry," said Hermione.

"Then why are you here!" demanded Gawtley, her eyes blazing.

"Please, Ingrith! I'll–" began Sirius, but Hermione had already been compelled to answer.

"I'm here to protect Harry Potter, to shelter him from the dark, to die for him if necessary."

There was a stunned silence.

"WHY!" cried Gawtley, now quite confused.

"Enough! She's had her three!" said Sirius, putting his fingers to Hermione's lips, but the girl was already whispering.

"What did she say?" asked Gawtley.

Sirius shook his head. "Leave her be until the serum wears off."

"What did she say, Siri?" Hestia said softly. "Why is she willing to die for Harry? Why would she even think she might need to?"

He looked into his wife's eyes for several seconds but did not reply to the question. "She's answered her three..."

.

Double Subterfuge

For the next hour, a slightly more relaxed but awkward exchange prevailed. Hermione oozed remorse, and so did the Blacks. Madam Gawtley remained rather distant and more than a little embarrassed. Sirius had finally rounded on her, demanding she apologise to Hermione and implying that her employment might be close to termination.

"No, she mustn't leave!" cried Hermione, no longer pretending to baby lisp. "This is all my fault. Madam Gawtley was right to suspect me. I wanted so much to help protect Harry."

"Hermione," said Madam Gawtley, and her tone had softened a little, "you didn't do very well at it, did you? Did you suppose a competent teacher couldn't tell when you were holding back? It's obvious you have been practising magic for some time."

Hestia said, "Ingrith, the Grangers only gave Hermione that wand at Christmas."

Gawtley kept her gaze firmly on Hermione. "Did they?"

Hermione shook her head and lowered it to scuff at her heel with her other toe as she whispered, "No... we bought it a while ago. I've been learning from books – potions and charms and useful spells. I can summon things!"

"Like that geology book?" said Gawtley.

"I got bored pretending..." whimpered Hermione.

Sirius said, "You prefer reading about stuffy old rocks? But why hide your talent? Squeezing a summoning charm out of a junior wand at your age is astonishing."

"I wanted to be more like Harry but I'm nearly a year older and I'm studying Hogwarts first and second year books – even some third and fourth year ones! Mum says I'm very advanced for my years. I thought you might think I was too old to be Harry's friend." She made her tone sound as mournful as possible. "Please don't send me away."

Hestia gasped. "Nobody's sending you away, Hermione. Your heart's in the right place, and that's what really counts. But no more baby acting, okay? Be yourself, darling."

"I do lisp sometimes when I'm nervous," said Hermione defensively. "It can't be helped. Dad says I'll grow out of it." The young girl didn't mention she could choose _when_ to sound nervous. That control would be a useful misdirection as needed. No one would suspect a simpering baby of being a lethal weapon. "I was hoping one day that magic might heal it."

"Hermione," said Sirius, hesitantly, "we've been wondering – Hestia and I – how did you learn about magic? How could you have found out about the magical community that is hidden within British society?"

For a few moments the young girl studied the expressions on the other three. "Will you keep a secret? Something I don't like to tell anyone?"

"Of course!" said Hestia. "But you don't have to tell us if you don't want to."

Again, Hermione hesitated. "I see things..."

Eyes widened. Sirius frowned. "What sort of things?"

Out from her pocket, Hermione drew a handkerchief with which she dabbed at her eyes. "Things that haven't happened."

"You're a _Perceptive!_ " cried Hestia. "That's no cause for shame! Such insights are harmless – sometimes useful in fact."

"Mostly useless and uninteresting. But one day I saw how to get into Diagon Alley. At last, I learned that the mysteries that had happened around me were my own accidental magic. And I discovered enchantments, other witches and wizards, books! I read about Harry Potter and... how his first mum and dad were killed. But most of my glimpses are no more than daydreams so I like to keep them to myself. "

Hestia nodded. "That's probably wise. Your secret is safe with us."

The situation itself, Hermione felt, was under reasonable control. She successfully persuaded Sirius not to inform her parents of what had transpired, and she returned home on the Knight Bus at teatime as usual with nothing more eventful taking place than the triggering of the Hansons' Peugeot car alarm – much to their annoyance.

After giving her a kiss and a hug, Mrs Granger asked, "Well, how'd it go? Did your plan work?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I deliberately gave Harry's teacher a few hints that I was faking it and she told his dad. I've convinced them all of my loyalty now, and they see me as moderately knowledgeable but naive with a gift for insights, exactly as I wanted. Being an obsessive bookworm is the perfect cover – a non-threatening know-it-all! I've set the stage ready for Hogwarts and my other plans."

Her mother sighed. "I wish you didn't have to."

"So do I, Mum, so do I, but if my real abilities were widely known then I'd be suspected when... anything unusual happened."

"Unusual?"

"Mum, I've already told you, I have dreadful things to do but they are necessary. I have seen that every other road leads to disaster for the world. I must not shirk my duty no matter how distasteful."

Mrs Granger was quietly crying as she embraced her daughter again. "I know, darling, I know. We'll support you, you know that."

And, only a few days later, Hermione began the first of her more unpleasant assignments...

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Many thanks to menm for beta-reading and helping clarify any confusing sections. Thanks also to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

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	7. 0:Deep, Departure, & Deja Vu

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione has befriended Harry and his family (Sirius and Hestia Black,) and convinced them that she is a loyal, non-threatening bookworm, intellectually mature for her age, with the gift of insight but emotionally naïve at times. Now she has even darker duties to perform. Read on..._

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 **Chapter 7**

 **The Deep, The Departure, and the Déjà Vu**

* * *

.

The Bell Tower

Having only three mornings of tuition with Madam Gawtley at Harry's home, instead of five full days of Muggle school, provided Hermione with more free time. Even so, she decided to Apparate at night to the Hungarian caverns she'd discovered in her former life. It would be a long journey and the relay point her future self had used was an unused, bricked up bell tower in a small German village. But was the tower still open to the public here in 1987? Best to be safe, she told herself. It was getting late; A street off the village square should be safe enough...

An unexpected blaze of streetlights greeted her arrival, and the young witch scurried into a shop doorway. _You fool, Hermione!_ There had been no power to waste on lighting streets once the world's gas and oil had been mostly frittered away by the second half of the twenty-first century.

A couple of young men had glanced her way as they came out of a bar, but now they walked off in the opposite direction. Hermione could see no one else but what about the village centre where the tower was located? A seven-year-old girl this late at night would attract too much attention, so she drew on her invisibility. She could easily hold this for half an hour or more without immateriality. She walked up to the end of the street.

And there it was, a floodlit monument to a bygone age, much cleaner-looking than she remembered, with a smartly-painted green door and brass fittings. Her lips formed a grim line. People have time to care still. And there _were_ people about – several of them heading home or waiting on corners. As Hermione watched, a cab pulled up and an old couple climbed in. As the vehicle drove off, she studied the tower more carefully. Although maintained, it seemed unlikely that anyone would be inside at this time of night. Nevertheless, cautious as ever, she decided not to Apparate directly.

Her approach took her past a bus shelter where a couple of teens were locked in a squirming embrace. Hermione kept her distance. The sound of a distant car caught her attention ... footsteps ... someone laughed ... a fallen drink can rolled and clattered into the gutter. Nothing to worry about, but she was nervous just the same and rendered herself immaterial twenty paces from the tower. To be caught would take some explaining whether to Muggle police or to the German magical authorities, and she was anxious to avoid trouble.

Easing right through the old stones, she found the small hall she remembered was in total darkness and, knowing there were no windows, she chanced a wandlight. No grime, no cobwebs – a noticeboard declared the visiting hours were only by appointment. She shook her head. However rare the visitors, this hall was not really ideal for an emergency Apparition relay anymore.

Up above looked more promising. The black iron handrail of a former spiral stair was just as before, but whereas the upper floor had all rotted away on her future visits, it was now still intact. The timbers were grey but looked sturdy enough, so she decided to float cautiously up.

Soft, non-verbal magic moved her gently to those high boards. She grimaced as her face rose through an inch of pigeon poop inside the belfry proper. The deposits must be old, she reasoned, for the window apertures were heavily meshed and the roof tiles in good repair. The bell had long gone; there was space aplenty for her brief needs.

After checking that the trapdoor was thoroughly sealed, she scourgified and strengthened the floor then gazed around, fixing the location more precisely in her mind for future direct Apparitions. Pleased with what she had accomplished, Hermione braced herself for the longer haul, then, with a crack, she Disapparated to her final destination.

.

No Way Out

No location on Earth could claim a deeper darkness; no place more still and silent – once the echo of Apparition had faded. Strange then, that a young child should willingly be alone in this void, blind and deaf for perhaps half a minute, holding her breath and drinking in the curious non-experience. Finally, she nonverbally cast...

 _Lumos Maxima!_

It was testament to the grand volume of the cavern into which Hermione Granger had immersed herself, that even her outstanding mastery of wandless-magic was barely sufficient for the illumination spell to reach the furthest walls. There, just as she remembered them, hung those stony barriers: petrified curtains bent and twisted and contorted to form and enclose this low cathedral without a single supporting column. No stalactites stretched down within these granite folds; no crystals glistened on any surface.

Hermione commenced breathing again and listened to herself do so – the first living entity to draw breath here since the Creation. The alien air was not exactly that of modern Earth, having been trapped before the surface atmosphere stabilised billions of years earlier – preceding the dawn of life itself. In this sterile environment, no creatures crept; naught slithered; not even microorganisms yet stirred the chemistry of these ancient surfaces.

With a sweep of her arms and a chant on her lips, the witch drew upon a short but powerful ritual, then stood back to watch. An impressive rock seam – a mere mineral variation that striped diagonally across much of the ceiling – became majestically irradiant, a glassy glowing rainbow adding soft colour and warmth to the pale rocks. The daylight charm would endure longer than any human lifetime, and render the cave more bearable. _NEVER Azkaban!_ Hermione vowed to herself, then added, _At least not forcibly._ Perhaps the open splendour that the light fully revealed would save MacNair from going stir-crazy this time.

After dousing her temporary wandlight, the girl turned to regard the enclosed space under this new sky. The chamber's shape might have been regarded as an overturned gigantic hollow pear, resting on, and flattened down on its side. At its apex, where one might have expected a stalk, was a gaping maw into a smaller, crushed apple-shape region. This she would leave unillumined, save for the light which spilled in from the main living area, because even the confined inhabitant might wish for occasional relief from the endless brightness overhead, and the annex would make a better sleeping area.

There at the junction was where Macnair had ended his life a century hence – but there was no gore now nor raving ghost; it had never happened. Hermione's mouth set in a drear line. She had no regrets for incarcerating the leader of the brutes who had mutilated Charlie and mistreated Luna so unspeakably.

With that horrific recollection, Hermione clutched at her tightening stomach and winced her eyes into a knot of remembered vicarious pain. Poor Luna! The loathsome Macnair would pay double for his former atrocities, even though she would never let him commit those particular ones again.

From her charm-extended bag she wrestled out one long-life mattress, one near-indestructible, enchanted book that provided millions of articles and stories, one all-purpose drain with an ongoing water charm, one table and chair, and finally, one focus charm to receive a lifetime of food; fresh, temperate air; and other necessities. Compared to Azkaban, the dungeon was a luxurious palace – but far more secure, being unknown, unknowable, and unreachable without future knowledge. In her former lifetime, there had only been time for this single prison cell – too little, too late. How many more would be needed in this lifetime, she wondered.

Satisfied for the moment, Hermione surveyed the fruits of her efforts. There was ample distance for a captive to rest his eyes or to exercise cramped limbs. And that, apart from an exit, was the one thing the cell lacked: an occupant. A prisoner would have to come much later because she had years of preparatory work to do first, if she was to help save mankind from its own folly.

.

Farrimond's Quest

"No, Farrimond!" laughed Hermione. "Not today!"

The owl dropped the toy picture block into the girl's lap where she sat on the Granger lawn. The end of April had been blessed with warm, dry weather, and the young girl was teaching the bird an improved way of communicating while picnicking with Harry in the sunshine.

"What's he say, Hermione?" giggled the boy, leaning over his sandwich to peer at the block.

"Scroll icon – ever eager to fly errands and carry messages, aren't you Farri!"

The owl flew onto her shoulder and nibbled an ear affectionately.

"Now, you know that won't get you–" Hermione paused; she had been putting off this moment. "Actually... perhaps it _is_ time..." Again she hesitated, looking at Harry, who returned her inquisitive gaze full on.

"Secrets, Harry, remember what I've been explaining to you? You and I? Things only you and I should know?"

Harry nodded eagerly, his eyes widening in anticipation to hear more from the friend who seemed to have so much knowledge.

"Very well," said Hermione firmly, for she was now resolved. "Farrimond, I have for you a great quest. It will be a challenge of many weeks' duration." She paused. "Farri, are you willing to fly to the ends of the Earth? To seek out one I knew and return with him? Only the very best of owls should undertake this task."

Farrimond fluttered eagerly to perch proudly upon a plastic garden chairback, lifted his chest and held his head high. The large eyes gazed adoringly into those of his mistress. No picture block was needed to convey his joy.

Hermione nodded. "As I thought, brave Farrimond." She paused for a few moments, wondering where to begin. "Far, far to the south, beyond the continents, beyond even Australia, lies Tasmania. Close by, and part of that nation, is a smaller island known as King Island. All this is well-recognised, but to the east lies another location, an unknowable, unnamed land. There, in the untamed forests, you must risk the ravens. These particular mystic creatures are a small species, and utterly black – black plumage, black-clawed, and black of eye. As if that were not enough, they are able to melt into invisibility, blending with their surroundings, silent as the dark mystic moon. At such times only other magical creatures like yourself can detect them or at least hope they will reveal themselves. If that happens, do not directly meet their gaze until you are accepted."

Farrimond ruffled up his feathers, and half spread his wings as if in alarm, but otherwise, he hid his fear well.

Hermione continued, "Amongst or between those flocks, you must seek out a young bird known as Aculus. Tell him who sent you and that I beg to ask if he is yet called to me. If the answer is no then your mission is over and you must return alone. Do not attempt to persuade an uncalled raven, Farrimond, for they know their place well."

As the bird flapped its wings in preparation for the first leg of its long journey, Hermione choked up a little, and turned aside.

Harry called out, " 'Bye, Farrimond! Please take care!"

With glistening eyes, Hermione rushed to her faithful owl. The young witch kissed the top of his head and wished him good luck and godspeed. She watched as he sped away to the south until he disappeared over the rooftops with Harry chasing down the garden as far as the back fence would allow.

A surge of regret hit Hermione so badly in that moment, she staggered, feeling immensely weak and dizzy, and dropped to one knee. Immediately she pulled out her adult wand to cast a reviving charm upon herself, but let it drop in astonishment. The wand was a mere stick, her magic dead, and there ahead of her was Farrimond, perched upon the chairback still, and flapping his wings ready to spring away once more.

Off to one side was Harry, calling out yet again, " 'Bye, Farrimond! Please take care!"

The owl flew south over the roofs with Harry running down the garden, half-excited, half-tearful, and Hermione staring blankly, utterly baffled as to what had just taken place.

Harry was trudging back to her. "That's curious, Hermione," he said, "you knowing about a wild bird so far away. Was it a holiday when you saw the raven?" Then, noticing her crouching low, he added, "Are you alright?"

Hermione rose unsteadily to her feet, confused and unwilling to frighten the boy unnecessarily. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I wondered if you saw Aculus on holiday," said Harry, frowning. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I see Aculus in my old memories, Harry – you know, I've mentioned them from time to time? One of our secrets?"

Harry nodded, still looking doubtful. He picked up Hermione's wand and handed it to her. She sensed magic was resurging within her so the girl took it and tried to cast a few sparks – successfully. A sigh of relief she smothered with a hurried, "I'm alright!" almost to herself. She produced more sparks then a brief wandlight – but she knew she could do more already if she wished. "Yes!" Seeing Harry's expression, she added, "I just felt very sad when Farrimond left. It's a dangerous undertaking I've sent him on. I hope he'll be okay."

Harry silently gathered up the toy blocks while Hermione sat on the chair, feeling her strength rapidly return, but worrying. _What on Earth happened to me?_ Would she be susceptible to further periods of weakness? Was there some conflict between her advanced magic and her youth? Who could she ask? St. Mungo's was out of the question. What a professional healer might uncover about her ability to use adult magic was not something she wanted to risk.

A hand was resting on hers. "Hermione?" There was concern in Harry's eyes.

She softened then, and hugged him for her own comfort.

"Are you poorly, Hermione?"

Her head shook against him.

"Secrets?" he said mournfully. "You told me I was one of the few you'd be able to trust."

"You're right, I'm sorry. ... I was a bit woozy for a minute – but don't tell anyone. My magic faded but it's almost normal again – you know, when you exhaust your magic for a few moments doing lots of big spells and have to rest?"

"But you've not done any big magic this morning, have you?" When she did not answer, he added, "Please don't die, Hermione." She became aware that Harry was crying and she pulled away a little to look at his face.

"It's nothing, honestly! Just part of growing up, I guess."

"Mummy can kiss it better. Shall I ask her?"

"I suppose it's a bit like accidental magic only the other way round, Yes, that's probably... what did you say? You've mentioned that before, haven't you? Is your mum a mediwitch?"

"Yes, she nursed Daddy after my first mum and dad were killed. They were his best friends. He was very sad for a long, long time, she said."

"Counsellor? She was a counsellor? That's how your parents met?"

"Healings as well! Mummy is still on day call for St. Mungo's if they have big emergencies – that was mostly during the war though, before I was born."

"Part time? As needed?"

Harry nodded. "And she makes me better if I'm sick or bang my knee."

"Well, I'm okay now." She noted his ongoing concern. "But perhaps it wouldn't hurt if I mentioned my exhaustion to her..."

.

A Consultation

In the Blacks' drawing room, Hestia Black was listening attentively as Hermione described the temporary lapse of her magic.

"I felt a bit physically weak too. But within a couple of minutes I was normal again."

Hestia frowned. "Was there any sense of icy chill in the air? Bad memories? Or as if everything worthwhile was being sucked away from you?"

"You mean Dementors?"

"Oh, you know about those foul creatures, do you?"

"I read about them, yes. No, this was nothing like that. I was just magically and physically weak for a little while – but until it ended, I was frightened it might be permanent."

"Oh, don't worry, Hermione! There's no way for a witch to permanently lose her magic!"

 _Oh yes, there is,_ thought Hermione, _and I'm the only person living soul who knows how, thank goodness._

"Apart from mental or curse impairment, of course," continued Hestia. "But even then, those born with magical power never lose it – they simply are unable to use that ability."

"Like the Longbottoms," said Hermione, mournfully. "But still, it was disturbing even to feel my magic drained for a short time."

"The Longbottoms? What do you mean, Hermione?" said Hestia.

Instantly, Hermione realised her likely mistake. Since it was known that Voldemort was definitely dead, the Lestranges would not have tortured Alice and Frank to find their master's whereabouts. "Langburtons, I meant," said Hermione, reacting quickly, "I think that was the name. I read about them in a very old Daily Prophet. Nasty potion or something they drank in the nineteen-fifties. How are the Longbottoms by the way, now that you've mentioned them?"

"I didn't ... _you_ did." Hestia gave her a strange look. "Do you know them?"

"No, no, no," laughed Hermione with an odd gaiety, "I only read _about_ them. Their son – Nigel or something, I think his name is – was born on the same day as Harry. That's what stuck in my mind."

"The day before," said Hestia, looking at Hermione rather thoughtfully, "and his name is Neville. He was born one day before Harry. Why did you–?"

"Temperature!" said Hermione quickly, and rather too emphatically. "Did you take my temperature? Muggle doctors always take their patients' temperatures." She gushed on with her distraction, hoping Hestia would forget the Longbottoms had ever been mentioned, "Oh, and blood pressure. Don't magical healers bother with those?"

Hestia smiled and shook her head. "Those are mere side-effects of illness and injury; our spells directly reveal the true causes."

The young woman began spinning a web of diagnostic charms around Hermione, but detected nothing unusual. "And no after-effects?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Show me."

With a wave of her junior wand, Hermione cast a small light then doused it.

"Everything seems to be in order. My only concern is trainer wands shouldn't normally exhaust the user. They are designed to be fairly harmless to you and everyone around you – that's the whole point. What were you doing, trying spells not in the junior manual? They won't work with a training wand; maybe that was the problem?"

"I don't think I used my wand at all – well, I might have stirred the tea, but that's all. We were teaching my owl Farrimond to use toy picture blocks – no magic."

"Mmm... I'm inclined to believe it was a massive surge of accidental magic then. You can't always see the results, you realise? You might have broken a few windows in the next street for all we know. Were you feeling emotional at the time? Angry or...?"

"I was really sorry I'd sent Farrimond with a message to a friend overseas, and I was worried about him."

"Aha! There you are then. The thing is, Hermione, you are quite advanced for your age and very mature. You're probably bursting with magic. I recommend you use the trainer wand more every day to give your power controlled expression. When you're eleven you'll find these attacks of uncontrolled magic will disappear."

Mrs Black stood up and smiled. "No other symptoms?"

"Well... I did have a strong sense of déjà vu. It was as if I'd already seen Farrimond fly away a minute before."

"Yes, sometimes we spontaneously visualise so strongly what we desire or fear that it registers as a false memory. When the reality happens we are puzzled that we remember it already happening. That illusion can seem very vivid, I know."

Hestia took a packet from her cupboard and gave it to Hermione. "This is chocolate laced with a mild dose of Pepper-up Potion. Keep it with you and eat a couple of pieces if you have any further trouble – and let me know, won't you?"

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Aunt Hestia."

.

Slipping into Madness

Through the weeks of May, Hermione scanned the skies many times a day, hoping for Farrimond's return, but she did not become anxious until the start of June. Over a month had now elapsed. During quiet moments, wild thoughts took over her mind. If she had imagined his departure once so vividly, perhaps she had imagined it twice? At such time she dashed to the larch and scanned his favourite branch but without reward.

Several times she visited Diagon and Knockturn Alley – alone but Polyjuice-disguised as a tall, broad-shouldered man from whom she had obtained thousands of hairs at his barbers – searching for books on states of mind and false memories. Ever more frenzied ideas now racked her troubled thinking. Was her entire former lifetime – the Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, the Triwizard Tournament, the Horcrux hunt and Voldemort's final death – were they all merely an endless sense of déjà vu? Had the Fates been imaginary? Or worse, did she, an old crone, still lie dying in Rathgate Asylum, having gone quite, quite mad?

Hermione shook herself from this ridiculous indulgence of self-pity. She must keep busy else she _would_ go crazy. There was still plenty of work to be done...

One more prison cell she prepared at the Hungarian subterranean caverns, then another that she had been putting off. In this cave she laboured the rocks into small subdivisions to resemble a few of the dungeon-like cells at Azkaban, dark, gloomy, and forbidding – just as she remembered them, but with one difference. She wrought sturdy pillars of stone from the surrounding rocks to form a central cage with no door. Her simulation was now almost complete.

She had visited the vile Azkaban but once when the Longbottoms had been incarcerated there in the twenties by one of a succession of dark Ministries. Hannah had not recognised Hermione at all during the time she was with her, but stared vacantly, eyes red-rimmed and clutching her dead child. Hearing daily her husband's tortured groans, she'd lost the will to live, and had diminished to bones, and skin, and rags. Soon after Hermione left, Hannah and Neville were decapitated by the Carrows personally.

 _Am I wrong to re-create such undiluted horror?_ Hermione thought. She reassured herself that for a time it would be necessary to offer the convicted that choice; to reproduce the Ministry system – cut-down but with fairer justice and the added option to serve their term in a more humane, Dementor-free environment. Besides, who would ever not take that option?

But one thing more was needed to make the impression convincing, and for that, Hermione would have to condemn herself to the worst place on Earth...

.

Anguish in Azkaban

Hermione Granger was badly frightened. Everyone in Azkaban was, including the mumbling wretch who shared both her dungeon and her cold, cold fear.

Although the summer heat did not penetrate to this depth, it had been easy for one of Hermione's abilities to move invisibly through the stone-blocked walls of the prison – but getting out was quite another matter.

Many who knew her supposed she was an independent, solitary bookworm – nothing could be further from the truth. Friendship was everything to her, and yes, she had plans in that direction, but, apart from Harry, those objectives had needed to be held in painful abeyance until a more suitable time. Right now though, she was friendless and very scared, craving the comfort and caring support of others.

Shakily pointing her wand, she unlocked the door of the chamber, braced herself for a few moments, then, unable to summon enough courage, quietly locked it again to fall back trembling in the dark.

 _Come on, Hermione, you have to do this! Apparition won't work here and a Patronus will drive away my prey!_

Twice more she tried to overcome her fear. Only on the third attempt did she manage to force herself out in full view of several Dementors. A chilling howl resounded in waves down the passage towards her but she didn't look back. Away through the corridor she sprinted, thankful the Daily Prophet's report about the east wing's lack of wards had been accurate for once.

But it seemed considerably further while running ahead of fiendish pursuers than it had when she had safely measured it earlier at a slower pace. Hermione had exhausted herself, and the creatures were almost upon her, when she finally scrambled into an empty cell. She charm-locked the door then curled up in a corner, shaking with terror. The closer they approached, the more she could hear Harry shrieking – _her_ Harry from the future. The man was even visible to her mind's eye now, his arms reaching through the stone wall of the next cell, reaching out to her. His old, pale face, his blank, staring expression, protruding through from hell.

"HELP ME! Hermione! WHAT DO I DO!"

And she, not knowing then, nor now, how to respond, remained silent as the cold grew colder and the fear grew stronger.

The howling and scraping in the passageway grew quite distinct as the leading Dementor clawed its way along, testing the cell doors, rattling them, searching, sniffing, ever nearer...

 _Steady, Hermione, steady..._ Her wand, she clutched tightly, but the hallucinating girl was way past the point of casting a Patronus. Did she still have the self-control and, more importantly, the bravery to carry out her idea?

The cold was now unbearable; her fear at its most intense. The barred metal door rattled – but the lock held. Through the gloom she beheld a towering, cloaked figure. Its face was completely hidden beneath a dark hood, but protruding from the ragged robes was a hand; it was glistening, greyish, slimy-looking and scabbed, like something that had decayed in water.

The creature could only reach so far through the bars then it paused, sniffing the air. Could it sense her? Detect the very fear it thrived upon?

And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it was trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings. At this moment, Hermione forced herself to do the one thing her sensible self insisted she must not do – she waved her wand...

" _Alohomora._ "

Her voice was no more than a low croak but the door clicked and swung open. Perhaps the creature was surprised, for it hesitated before gliding in towards the girl cowering in the corner.

She waited... waited...

Bony fingers grasped her ankle and Hermione screamed as she scrabbled at Harry's wall, over his broken imaginary expression, over those green, bewildered eyes, trying to pull herself to a standing position...

Half upright, she managed the turn, Disapparated in one unendurably-long step directly into the stone trap at the centre of her Azkaban cavern, dragging the Dementor with her, and with old Harry shrieking in her head all the way.

Hermione instantly dematerialised – leaving the Dementor clutching at nothing but the air in its cage – then Apparated to the next cavern, her chest heaving with relief. The brute was a material creature and there was no physical exit from these subterranean hollows below the mountains.

She leaned against the cave wall, panting, cold sweat streaming down her face, and drinking in the delicious silence. Apart from the emotional drain, the extra-long Apparition journey had weakened her for many minutes. Only then did she recall Aunt Hestia's Pepper-up chocolate. The shaking girl fumbled out a couple of squares and popped one in her mouth, quickly savouring the smooth sweet bite on her tongue, and the welcome heat surging through her.

The remedy was faster than normal chocolate so the second piece was not needed; Hermione slipped it back into the packet. As soon as she had recovered, she Apparated back home – this time via the bell tower in Germany – then enjoyed the luxury of a warm shower before going to bed.

She slept soundly.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Is Hermione dark? I'd say no. To me, a dark Hermione would be one using evil against good. The Hermione in my story will bend the rules and even break the law – but she did so in the original books and nobody would have called her dark. Imagine an extension of the changes her character went through during the years of the original work then add to that many years where she saw horrors I shall only hint at in my story. Plus the stakes are very, very high as you will learn, so she has to take a firm line._

 _Lisping: There is a misconception among some readers that lisps are exclusively a cute anomaly in very young children. Not so. Many do not grow out of it and many adults lisp. I used to work for a guy with a pronounced lisp. Drew Barrymore still has a trace of a lisp last time I heard her, and Mike Tyson has a strong lisp. Jonathan Ross has a different kind of lisp where the letter 'R' is comes out as 'Hawwy' instead of 'Harry'. So, although other children might poke fun at Hermione if she occasionally lapses lopsidedly into a lisp, they won't think it unbelievable. That said, I shall make great efforts to reduce it, soften it, and fade it out earlier, probably during Year 1 at Hogwarts. It is critical to the story to show absolutely clearly to the reader very quickly when she is withdrawing into feigned nervous immaturity. Telling it exclusively in the narrative is weak storytelling; showing is always stronger. But it's near-impossible to represent a faint lisp. It'sth a full lithsp or nothing! All I can do is use less 'S's in her speech to reduce your pain!_

 _Thanks also to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

.


	8. 0:Gathering Support

.

 _So far... By the summer of 1987, The reborn Hermione has befriended Harry and his family (Sirius and Hestia Black) and begun the process of establishing a temporary justice system for serious offenders to be used until Ministry corruption is rooted out. But she will need further help with that. Read on..._

.

 **Chapter 8**

 **Gathering Support**

* * *

.

The Underachiever

The smart London borough of Hendon was stewing through a brief spell of hot weather in early July during which even the mornings were uncomfortably humid. A semi-detached suburban house at the midway point of Merrip Hill's meandering approach was home to the Gairs, an almost-middle-aged couple who appeared quite normal to their neighbours: one Ford Escort in the drive, one son recently married off to a nice girl down in Golders Green, and one colour television now showing morning TV, only the sound of which drifted through to them from the lounge.

"Thank you, Vera," Jop Gair said rather absently, after he had drained his breakfast teacup and pushed it past the open letter that lay before him on the kitchen table. He blew out heat and fanned himself despondently with one hand for a short while.

"Another rejection?" said his wife.

There was no reply other than a faint huff.

Mrs Gair waited a suitable few minutes before trying a different tactic to draw a response. "If you're not going into the Ministry today, don't forget the cottons, will you, dear?"

"Mmm...?" Jop looked up at his wife who was pointing at the overflowing laundry basket in the corner. "Ah, yes..." From his sleeve, Mr Gair slid out a wand, cast a deep-cleansing charm across the room, then stared down again at the curious message he had received.

Vera smiled as the now-spotless sheets and towels began neatly folding themselves. "You know, we really ought to hire you out – there are plenty of Muggles round here who'd benefit from magic, not just myself."

"That's what I keep saying, Vee," muttered Jop, "and plenty of wizards who'd be better off with the sort of help that only you Muggles can give. Trouble is, nobody will listen to me."

"Give it time, give it time, Jop. If you keep presenting your ideas, someone will accept them eventually."

"Maybe someone already has," he replied, lifting up the letter. "Listen to this, ' _Dear Mr Gair, I have long admired your stance in support of greater connectivity with non-magical folk. Might I call this morning to briefly discuss how we might mutually benefit each other?'_ "

"Seriously? Who's it from?"

Jop nodded. "The letterhead says 'AMIS'. There's no address and I can't read the signature. What's interesting is that it's on paper not parchment, and I reckon it's been done with one of those new laser printers."

Vera's eyebrows lifted. "So it's from a Muggle-born or even a Muggle like myself married to a magical person? But how are you supposed to reply if there's no address? Is there a phone number?"

He shook his head. " ' _Tap three times if you agree,'_ it says."

"With your wand?"

" I suppose so."

"Well... go on then."

"Should I, you think?"

"Of course."

"Right."

He did so. There was a knocking on the backdoor that almost echoed his taps. Jop looked at Vera. Vera looked at Jop.

After a few seconds of silence, Jop whispered, "Five quid says that's not a Muggle."

He got up and went to look out of the kitchen window where he immediately pulled out his wand in a defensive posture."Erm... Vee, perhaps you'd better... uuh... hide upstairs?"

But Vera was already at her husband's side. "What is that?"

"Big phantom... or... similar." His voice shook a little.

"Should we...?"

"I'll go."

There was no letterbox on the backdoor so Jop shouted through the paper-thin crack where the lock aligned with its keep. "What do you want?"

A deep, booming voice – muffled by the door – replied. "I'm from AMIS. You agreed I could visit. "Don't worry, I shall only stay a few minutes."

There was no sound for a while as Jop wondered what to do. "How do we know you don't mean us harm?"

He stumbled back a couple of paces and dropped his wand as a vaguely-human face – shimmering translucently and obscurely – poked through the solid, white PVC panel of the door. The voice was quite obviously indoors too, for it was now clear and close up and rather intimate. "If I meant to hurt you I'd have just come in without invitation, wouldn't I? You do know what 'amis' means, surely?"

"No." He did, but in the circumstances Jop couldn't think straight.

Vera whispered in her husband's ear but kept her eyes on the head which was protruding into their kitchen while the rest of the visitor was still waiting politely outside. " 'friends' – it's French. We should be friendly." Her advice did not stop her picking up Jop's wand and pressing it into his trembling hand.

"Very well. You can come in," said Jop, stepping forward to open the door which he then realised had been unlocked since the milk was fetched in earlier. "Leave it open – it's rather stuffy in here." He really intended to have a ready escape if needed.

"Thank you." The tall apparition glided in – the thick, dark hair wafting through the top of the door frame – then the figure floated towards the table.

Vera responded instinctively. "Erm... would you... uuh, like to sit down and help yourself to a cup of tea?" she said, unsure how to address the creature but wishing to not make an enemy of it.

"It can't!" hissed Jop in her ear. "The tea would just fall through."

"Not at all," said the phantom, summoning out a chair and plonking itself down rather heavily as if to make a point. An empty mug sailed over from the dresser and the milk jug and teapot began to pour simultaneously.

"You can do _wizard_ magic!" gasped Jop. "You're human? Impossible! No wizard can make themself incorporeal like this!"

"And why can't we see your face properly? You're translucent and all of a twinkly quiver," added Vera – rather boldly, she thought to herself, but supporting her husband's slightly challenging stance.

"Sorry about the disguise, but it's essential I remain unknown. I can be completely invisible if you prefer but I can't hold it as long. Still, since I'll only be here a few minutes – there!"

A few seconds of silence passed.

Vera said weakly, "You're... still here?" She was familiar with her husband's magic but had never seen complete invisibility.

In answer to her question, the tea mug lifted itself up, tilted, and a mouthful of tea was absorbed down a non-visible gullet.

"Ew!" said Vera with a shudder. "I think I prefer the twinkly thing."

"Oh, right... I'll make the distortion a bit thicker. ... How's that?"

The flickering, shadowy creature sipped its tea for a while.

"So, uuh...?" said Jop.

"Adam Brown," said the phantom, fanning itself with one hand just as Jop had earlier. The man drained his tea. "Right... to business. As head of AMIS – the Advantageous Muggle Integration Society – I represent the interests of an enormous number of Magical and Muggle folk. I foresee terrible consequences if there is no increase of cooperation between these two aspects of humanity. Changes are needed at the Ministry; I wish to see people like you, Mr Gair, on the Wizengamot."

Gair sighed and his shoulders drooped. "Aah... so you're just a naïve idealist. And I thought you might be a serious supporter." He frowned his obvious disappointment. "Listen, I spend my time trying to persuade key wizards at the Ministry to consider new ideas, but I'm no politician."

"On the contrary, Mr Gair, you network well and know more about how things are run at the Ministry than most of them do themselves. I see you becoming an effective figure on the Council, but you lack confidence in yourself. If I did nothing to help you then it would be half a lifetime before you'd be in a position to radically influence the changes needed. I'd like to see you in office within years, not decades."

"You know nothing of the Wizengamot! They have too many vested interests to ever vote someone like myself into their chambers. Anyway, they manage the legislation and the courts but it's the Minister who really controls things."

"Fudge will not always be Minister, Jop, and, as you well know, he can only apply the laws set up by the Council."

"His influence sways them!"

"I told you, he will not always be there!" growled Brown.

There was silence in the kitchen for a few moments. The television was faintly discussing Jimmy Connor's chances of winning a third Wimbledon in a few days' time. Distant traffic and street sounds could be vaguely heard through the still-open backdoor, but there was no appreciable wind. Jop swirled his wand and a little breeze began to circulate around the room.

Mrs Gair, too, tried to ease the heated tension. "Excuse me, uuh... Adam, but how do you know that – about Fudge, I mean? And what makes you think my husband would ever be a Wizengamot member? I may be a Muggle but we discuss everything together, and entering government has never been considered. My husband is a lobbyist, an influencer, rather than being part of leadership."

"I have a clear vision of how the future will unfold, Mrs Gair. I know the ideal person with whom I hope to replace Fudge." The eyes of both Gairs flashed wide at the audacious boast, but Adam continued with even more of a shock, "And Jop's position on the Wizengamot is certain, but it will be too little too late. I wish to alter that – bring it forward."

Both Jop and Vera gasped. Jop said, "This is too much... too much. ... You're a seer?"

"I see much of what is certain to be, yes, but I also know what might be but can be changed for the better."

"Then how do you know others might not change it for the worse?" said Gair.

"Because I am the only one who can view the whole picture!" growled the big man.

More silence. A large fly buzzed in, attracted by the remnants of breakfast on the dishes piled in the sink. Jop Gair banished the insect with a flick of his wand. There was something especially satisfying about still being able to perform magic while there was a stranger in his home.

He took a long breath. "Suppose – just for a moment – suppose I believe you about seeing the future, the fact remains there is no path for someone of my views by which to penetrate the closed inner circle of government – I'd have no more chance than that fly had of getting into our freezer."

"As it stands at the moment, yes, and on your own, yes, that is true, but I shall prepare the way for you, Jop – will you be ready?" Adam Brown stood up and began to fade as he floated backwards towards the still-open door. "We shall meet again to discuss this further when you have had time to ponder. Just remember, you are the key to a better future, Jop Gair."

Mrs Gair gazed at her husband in a new light. She had always known he was a much better man than was evident to the world, but had even she underestimated his worth?

"How can we be sure that you can truly see what will happen?" she said to the fading, drifting spectre – now almost invisible once more.

"Look to your husband for the fruitage, Mrs Gair. His place shall be critical – as will yours."

"And _your_ place?" asked Jop with a note of scepticism. "You hope to be the new Minister for Magic?"

Brown's laughter was quite girlish for such a big man. "I? No, that task awaits another..."

A gust of wind blew in and the white door swayed ever so slightly.

" _This hot weather won't last..._ " came Adam's voice back faintly from outside, " _but long enough for Pat Cash to beat Jimmy and go on to win Wimbledon this Sunday..._ "

Then nothing.

"Who did he say will win? Hello?" said Vera. "Hello?" Then, after a while, "He's gone, you reckon?" She went over to the area around the backdoor and began wafting her arms about as if trying to grasp smoke.

Jop nodded. He had a lot to think about.

.

Prince of Birds

Fifteen minutes after the encounter with the Gairs, Hermione walked out from behind the Grangers' garden shed. She had a man's jacket and trousers draped over her arm but she quickly bundled them up and threw them inside the shed.

"Where've you been, Hermione?" shouted Harry, running forward. "It's time to go!"

"Oh, just visiting some people. When did you get here? ... Still no sign of Farrimond?" Her head swivelled back and forth rapidly as she peered up at the empty blue sky.

"No. Do you think he'll be alright?" He knew the answer.

Hermione shook her head. "I just don't know. It's been a long time. I'm worried. How long have you been here? Did Sirius bring you?" Hermione glanced towards the kitchen window.

"No, Mummy's here." Harry grabbed her hand and led her indoors, into the slightly cooler shade of the kitchen.

Hermione smiled. "Hello, Aunt Hestia, sorry I'm a bit late."

"Don't worry, we were just having a nice chat – your mum and I." She gestured at Mrs Granger who sat beside her at the table.

Mrs Granger nodded at Hermione. "And how was old Mrs Arkwright's arthritis?" She turned her face away from Hestia and gave Hermione a long wink from the furthest eye.

"Mrs Arkwright...? Oh, yes, Mrs Arkwright – she'll be alright. It's the morning's when she's sometimes a bit stiff and sore. I helped her with breakfast again."

"Right then, you two," said Hestia, standing up. "If you'd both like to take my arm, we'll–"

"HERMIONE!" shrieked Harry, who was looking out the window. "Farrimond! I think it's Farrimond! He's hurt!"

Hermione raced outside followed by the others. Farrimond was unable to perch in his tree and was fluttering awkwardly on the ground. There were dark marks on the owl's wings and his plumage was in a bad state.

"Farri! Farri!" panted Hermione on her short sprint.

She crouched down beside the bird and was almost ready to cast diagnostic charms when she remembered Mrs Black was there. "Aunt Hestia! Can you help him?"

Hestia was already doing so. "These injuries are not fresh; I think they're from a few days ago." She conjured a large shallow bowl of water from which the owl gratefully began to drink. "Nothing broken but lots of damaged tissues and small cuts. Most likely attacked by a flock of wild birds. You said you sent him overseas?"

Hermione nodded and wiped her eyes. Her mother patted her on the shoulder.

"He'll be alright," said Hestia. "It's time he needs. Don't send him anywhere for a week or so and keep him supplied with owl food and supplements until he can fend for himself." She turned to her son. "Harry, can you fetch my bag, please?"

Mrs Granger shouted after him, "It's down at the side of the kitchen table." After a moment's thought she jogged after the boy. "I'll come with you and bring back some nourishment for the poor creature."

"Dear Farrimond," said Hermione, stroking the soft feathers at the bird's throat. A sudden thought struck her. "Sorry to be such a nuisance, Aunt Hestia. Madam Gawtley will be wondering where we've got to."

"She'll understand. She does like you, you know."

"I'm not sure she does."

"Oh yes, she's coming round. She was an Auror for a long time so is naturally suspicious. She taught... have you ever heard of a great Auror called Alastor Moody?"

Hermione looked up in surprise. "She trained him?"

Hestia nodded. "She drummed vigilance into him night and day. But being so observant means she notices the good in people too. She sees how much you care for Harry – that can't be faked, she told me."

"She did?"

"That and the..." she glanced over her shoulder as Mrs Granger and Harry were coming back outdoors, then continued in a whisper, "that and the Veritaserum proof convinced her you'll be good for Harry; that you'll watch out for him and suchlike."

"Of course, I will," said Hermione, firmly. "Aunt Hestia, do you mind if I stay with Farrimond today? Will you apologise to Madam Gawtley for me?"

"Very well." Mrs Black rummaged in her bag as Harry held it open, and took out a vial of essence of Murtlap, much of which she dispensed into the water bowl.

Farrimond seemed to understand, for he immediately clambered in and sprawled about, soaking his badly-ruffled feathers in the solution.

Mrs Granger placed a small tray of dishes on the grass for Farrimond to feed on when he was ready, then walked back to the house with Hestia and a reluctant Harry.

"See you Monday then, Hermione!" he called rather despondently when they reached the back door.

Mrs Granger bid the two visitors farewell, and as soon as they had Disapparated, she went to the kitchen window to see how Hermione was coping with the wounded owl. The woman had a much better understanding of her daughter now and could sense in her both the young child and the more mature personality that often helped her through those immature emotions. Even so, Anne Granger was startled by what she saw:

Farrimond was still soaking contentedly in the soothing Murtlap solution, but Hermione – she appeared to be bowing to the great larch! Anne felt her legs brace ready to run out there, but she stopped herself. Was her daughter talking to trees now? The window was already open to funnel the slight breeze indoors, so the woman leaned closer to listen...

"How knew you of my presence, and why pay me such homage?" The voice was that of a young man and very pure in tone. Anne's eyes widened, for she could see no one.

"Oh, dear Aculus, I have known you a long time in my inner vision and sense your nearness with ease. Though you do not know me now, I can speak freely. I once saw you give your life that I might live – I do not forget the curse you willingly may take in my stead. Only now am I able to thank you, and to honour you."

"You speak in riddles, Mistress. Am I to understand you are foretelling my death?"

There was a flutter. A small raven, black as black, starkly revealed itself against the lower branches of bright summer greenery.

Hermione waited for the bird to settle again before replying. "Not all that I see is certain; much can be changed. I shall take great care to avoid the circumstance arising. Together we shall seek out those who would harm not only us, but others, and the whole world, including your own beloved forests.

There was a thoughtful pause before she continued, "They name you the harbinger of doom. You might be a sign of my coming if you will! What do you say?"

"Mistress, I am called. I need no other inducement to serve you."

"Let it so be!" cried Hermione.

"Let it so be!" repeated the raven in Hermione's own voice.

.

In Search of Reality

In little more than a week, Farrimond was eager to prove himself fit again. Over the following days, but with some reservation, Hermione sent him to every magical bookshop she knew with an order for any books about déjà vu. With a wagging finger, she gave him strict instructions not to bring back any heavy tomes but to let the trader provide their own delivery in such cases.

Aculus, meanwhile, was sent in search of and to observe a wealthy businessman called Mike Worthing. Hermione knew well of his public activities and of the respect in which he was held by his fellow investors, but she wished to know that he treated well his family and house-elves. He was a secretive man and little was known of his home life. The astute girl did not wish to deal with anyone who presented a carefully-manicured appearance to the public while dominating and abusing those he might think his inferiors. He had, after all, been a Slytherin. Why was his personal life so mysterious? What was he hiding? Could he be trusted, she wondered?

An anguished conflict swamped her thinking. To spy on a probably-innocent man was repulsive to her, and yet the world had great need of a just man to prevent its downward spiral into suffering and madness. Inwardly she still saw the skinned bodies lined up in the ashy streets, heard the wailing... it never stopped. A sob escaped her own lips.

"It's real, isn't it?" said Harry, who, she now realised had been watching her closely. They were sat on the Grangers' lawn again, awaiting news from either bird. The summer weather had almost caused Hermione to doze off.

"I don't honestly know, Harry. Sometimes I wonder if it ever occurred at all. In a way, it has never happened – how could it have because, well... it hasn't yet, has it?"

"You know it must have. How else could you have known the Wimbledon winner or uuh... that I like treacle tart – or all those other things you told me? And what about those billions of children and _their_ mums and dads? How could they be nothing?"

Hermione clutched the side of her head and winced. Harry's words were not helping. The idea of billions of instances of personal love being meaningless and worthless in a world that never existed was unbearable. "I can't handle it all, Harry. Sometimes it's just too much."

He hugged her then in his innocent little-boy way, spontaneously expressing affection in a manner he had never been capable of as a teenager in her previous life. "We'll do it together, Hermione," he whispered in her ear. "You don't have to do it on your own."

She patted his back, nodding into his shoulder until she mastered her emotions enough to speak again. "Thanks, Harry, I know I can rely on you."

She was grateful then that she, as a quasi-adult, would be more able to bear the burden of world-saving than the 'Boy Who Lived' had needed to shoulder as a vulnerable child in her previous future. With her abilities and the advantage of foresight, _she_ would have the mastery over dark wizards this time around, and Harry would not have the on-going threat of Voldemort seeking him out or those agonising, nightmarish visions.

Thinking about that monster's connection with Harry, reminded her to make a note in her log to research Horcruxes once more. Why had Voldemort died and not merely departed to roam as a disembodied half-spirit like before? She was sure he was truly dead, but pure curiosity demanded of her that she find out why. There had been nothing to be found on the subject down Knockturn Alley when she had investigated, and only one other source of such information remained: Hogwarts. She had other reasons to visit that castle before she was of age too.

Her thoughts drifted back to those days she had spent mostly with Harry and Ron. The Horcrux books she had summoned from Dumbledore's office. Perhaps he had retrieved them from the library much earlier in this lifetime – but why would he? While still Transfiguration professor, Dumbledore had kept a suspicious eye on Riddle. At Dumbledore's own request, the librarian of that time had informed him weekly of any unusual reading material taken out by the boy – Hermione remembered the note in one of the books. He couldn't have known before Tom studied those books so what prevented the boy from learning the secret of immortality? It was a mystery that was probably unimportant, so Hermione filed it away in the back of her mind and continued daydreaming about her former years at Hogwarts.

The earliest days had been the best, beginning with the excitement of the first ride on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, so bright and eager and excited – just as he was now. He'd escaped the emotionally-brutal Dursleys for the first time, discovered magic as she herself had, and was looking forward to learning more at the castle. Her face darkened a little as she remembered how Snape and Draco had clouded his near-perfect happiness. Then in his second year, he learned distrust and hatred. The betrayal of his parents he discovered in the next. The forced entry into the Tri-wizard tournament and its consequence dragged him down further while his fifth year began with injustice, terrible isolation when he most needed counselling, and ended with the loss of his godfather. Small wonder that his features had creased prematurely and he died young from a heart broken by sacrifice and an ultimately pointless struggle.

"NOT THIS TIME!" She sprang up to a sitting position on the grass, eyes blinking in the sun.

Alarmed, little Harry stepped back. "Hermione?"

Eyes shining with tears, Hermione enfolded him in her arms. "I'll give you back your childhood, Harry. I won't let them hurt you again!"

.

The Burden of the Future

Meanwhile, there were lessons to attend with Harry – partly to keep in touch with his progress, but mainly for his company which she had sorely missed for decades and so valued more highly. His seventh birthday came and went and he was now practising regularly with the junior wand. Harry was already growing out of his infant cuteness and Hermione occasionally glimpsed aspects of the Harry she had known formerly – the one she had memories of meeting on the Hogwarts Express all those years before.

"Hermione? Why do you go there?" The two of them were sat in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, sipping ice cold juice and studying their class textbooks.

"Sorry, what did you say, Harry?"

"You're gazing off into your other world again." He looked slightly resentful of her inattention. "Don't you like it here... with me?" He got up and went to look out of the window, perhaps to give Hermione a taste of her own medicine.

"Harry, you're in my other memories too."

"I am?" Harry turned around to look at his friend.

"Of course you are! You're the reason I dwell on them!"

He came back then and took his seat again on the rug beside her. "Tell me about your world, Hermione."

She shook her head and closed her eyes tight, seeing the horror all around her. "You really... ought not to know, Harry." But the memories drew her in, seeing them vividly almost as if in a Pensieve, torturing her, goading her. "All... All that's left are scattered tribes and... a few small city-states cannibalising resources... they were plagued by insurgents and terrorists and criminals and..." Forgetful of Harry, her voice was rising as renewed anger took over. "Activists and reformers are set to labour on treadmills to generate electricity. Those too old or sick are declared insane and locked up in–"

She opened her eyes and, seeing his confusion, reminded herself how young he was. "I mean cruel, frightened people fighting each other for control, Harry. Nowhere is safe. And all because of the earlier instability caused by dark wizards."

"What happened to them, Hermione? All the wizards?"

Hermione's eyes again glazed over out of focus once more, seeing her past-future within. "They were thinned out like the general population – more so, because magical shields cannot block nuclear fusion nor deflect plasma drones. They could not comprehend nor manufacture the new materials that lined the Muggles' clothing and underground shelters. Blood supremacists knew nothing of Geiger counters that mapped out the safest locations. In their ignorance, they dismissed the power of science and the weight of technology."

"Yes, there were a few who began purging non-magical folk, but they incurred the wrath of these remaining Muggles who were now heavily armed with ferocious new weapons, and extremely warlike – had to be to survive. Their witch hunts wiped most of us out – magical folk in general, I mean. And so..."

Again she stopped her rant, looking at Harry's expression. "In short, Harry, the future will be really, really bad if we don't do something."

.

The Secretive Slytherin

It was after mid-August before Aculus succeeded in tracking down Mike Worthing but the larch tree was still in full summer vigour when the small bird descended into its fine leafery. Hermione came running. Farrimond waddled off to one side of his branch, somewhat miffed by his inability to help in this matter.

"Worthing dwells in a protected home that even I cannot penetrate," complained the raven. "From what I hear in their outer conversations, I believe it's a modest-sized mansion that has been in the family for many generations, but they keep it very private."

"Probably under a powerful Fidelius charm," said Hermione. "How then did you locate them?"

"The furthest grounds of the house extend beyond the house shielding. The youngest child often plays amongst the trees there with her friend, and the family sometimes picnic with guests too. I have flown around the area where the house must be but can see only wild meadow surrounded by thin woodland."

"Then I must find a way..."

"Why do you wish it so? His business address is public. You can approach him there more easily."

"A show of strength and power. Mike Worthing is not easily impressed. A stammering child tugging his sleeve in the street will not have the impact of a bulky, dominant, phantom-like wizard gliding effortlessly through the walls of his secret domain and into his parlour. I must compel him to take me seriously from the start."

For a few moments she frowned thoughtfully. "You say he has guests? Do they ever stay, Aculus? That is, do they disappear into his home with him, and stay overnight?"

"They do, and many of them. Trusted business associates, cousins, the occasional Ministry official."

"Then stay as close to him as you can, Aculus, for he is almost certainly the Secret Keeper. If you overhear him divulge his address to another then you too will be able to enter his abode. However, if he uses an envoy – perhaps a family member for he would not risk an owl – to convey the address in writing to someone elsewhere, might you borrow the message? It is said you ravens are adept at picking pockets."

"Borrow yes, but likely lose the mark while delivering it to you. I assume you would wish it quickly returned to the pocket from which it was appropriated, or Worthing will know someone is trying to penetrate his home."

"That is a problem..." Hermione sat down with her back to the trunk of the tree while she thought for a while.

Apart from the breeze hushing through the leaves, and the clicking of beaks, the garden was quiet for a few minutes.

The raven spoke next. "Farrimond reminded me that if I invoke our bond, Mistress, then you can Apparate to me in a few moments."

Hermione clambered back to her feet. "Farrimond said...? You said that, Farrimond?"

The owl puffed out his chest and looked down at the girl, as if surprised by her tone.

"Then let it so be," murmured Hermione, thoughtfully.

"Let it so be," repeated the raven in the voice of his mistress.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

.


	9. 0:A Busy Day Out

.

 _So far... By the summer of 1987, The reborn Hermione has befriended Harry and his family (Sirius and Hestia Black) and begun recruiting supporters to the cause of rooting out Ministry corruption. Read on..._

.

 **Chapter 9**

 **A Busy Day Out**

* * *

.

Ingots for Gringotts

A scattered glittering of light caught the eye of Sirius Black as he gazed at the exotic wristwatches in a Muggle shop window. He and his wife were waiting outside while Anne Granger took Harry and Hermione into the shop.

"Merlin!" he said in a low voice.

"What now?" said his wife, looking where he was gesturing with his eyes. "You've been edgy all... Double Merlin with warts! So that's what she keeps in the satchel?"

"Exactly! Muggle dentists must earn more than I thought if they pay them in gold bars."

"Well, they're only tiny." She squeezed in a little to allow an old man with a squeaky shopping trolley to pass by on the narrow pavement.

"But so many! I had no idea a... what did she call it?"

"A _baddery_ ," Hestia said knowledgeably. "It makes her watch go round."

"Yes, that was it. I'm just surprised they cost so much when clockwork ones work for nothing. What's the point? And – look! Now he's giving her so much change! All those banknotes! Anyway, I'm not edgy – I'm cautious."

"Edgy."

"Not."

"You're always like this when we take Harry out in public. We can't keep Harry cooped up indoors forever and this is a Muggle area, remember? Besides, Hermione watches out for him as well – have you noticed?"

"Yes," nodded Sirius with a smile, "she's like the big sister he never–"

"Don't start that again!"

"Sorry, Hes. ... But it's true, isn't it? She's perfect for him; about the same age but more sensible than many an adult. I now wish he'd had more contact with youngsters so he–"

"Hush, here they come," she hissed. "Whatever you do, don't mention the gold!"

With the children scampering behind, Anne emerged with a big smile, and began shrugging on a flimsy grey frock coat which was the nearest she had to a witch's summer robes. "What are you two looking so nervous about? You look like a couple of Muggles lost in Knockturn Alley."

"Oh, uuh... we were just talking about the kids making more friends – safety in numbers and all that – weren't we, Hes?"

She glared at him.

"Which friends, Daddy?" said Harry.

"Your father means when you go to Hogwarts, darling," said Hestia, nudging Sirius in the ribs. "Right, who's for ice cream?"

"Yay!" squealed the children.

"Come on then, let's walk along to Fortescue's. You two keep ahead where we can see you."

The five of them marched on, the adults trying to keep up with the excited youngsters.

"Hermione, will we really have other friends at Hogwarts?" said Harry.

"The best. I'm hoping to meet them before then, but it needs thinking out how to do it."

"But you'll still be my friend?"

"Forever!"

"Forever!" echoed Harry, happily.

.

Entrapments

Mrs Granger quickly scanned the menu displayed outside Fortescue's. "Can you order me a monster Neo and watch Hermione for me? I'll be back from Gringotts in a jiffy."

Sirius exchanged glances with his wife as they took their seats at one of the outdoor tables. She mouthed, "Do you think she really knows what a Neo is?" Harry read her lips, giggled, then turned to watch the passers-by – some busy shoppers, others clearly strolling and enjoying the pleasant weather.

Hermione had run after her mother, hissing like a goose. "Not on your own, you're not. I'm coming too."

"P'uh!" snorted Mrs Granger. "We've been thrice before. Think I can't manage a few strangely-impossible creatures on my own by now? Come on then, I'll show you how it's done."

At the entrance she bade a cheery good morning to the goblin attendant there. "See?" she smirked at her daughter.

They queued behind a fat, pallid-faced man who glanced back and narrowed his pudgy eyes at Anne. She took a half-step away but Hermione blocked her from going any further.

"Is that...? Is that...?" Mrs Granger whispered.

"Only a half-vampire, Mum. The full vampires don't normally come out in daylight. Anyway, they have bigger fangs than him."

Anne Granger composed herself and straightened up with her chin higher than before. "I knew that."

The man must have overheard for as he was about to leave the counter, he bared his teeth in a nasty leer before sweeping past them.

Mrs Granger took a couple of steps towards the counter but was pushed aside by a newcomer who cursed at her. "You there, out of the way! Muggles aren't you, by your ragged attire? Can't you read? This is a wizarding bank." It was a tall, blond-haired man who had elbowed ahead of them and was now demanding service from the goblin cashier. "I need a withdrawal, Gornuk, and I'm in a hurry," he snapped.

"Right away, Mr Malfoy."

"Do you mind!" flared Mrs Granger, "We were here first! We're in a hurry too!"

"Mum..." Hermione tugged at her mother's sleeve but was shook off.

Malfoy snatched a quill from the goblin and began filling in a form. "Why do you goblins let filth in here, Gornuk? How can this drudge be allowed access to its owner's account?"

"How dare you!" cried Mrs Granger. "Slavery was abolished long ago!"

"Get me another quill, Gornuk! Quickly now!" Malfoy turned and looked scathingly down his nose at Anne and spelt out, "That – can – be – changed."

"Mum..."

His attention diverted to Hermione, he scrutinised her contemptuously before spitting out, "Yet another Mudblood to soil our world. What are things coming to?"

"Don't you dare talk to my daughter like–!" Mrs Granger abruptly fell silent and felt herself pulled away by an invisible force towards another queue with Hermione apparently in tow.

" _Thsorry, Misther_ Malfoy," cried the young girl over her shoulder.

"You do well to learn respect for your betters," sneered Malfoy. "Dammit, Gornuk, get me some ink, will you! My wife and son wish to make purchases while I have to meet with the Minister in ten minutes. I need those coins NOW!"

"He bewitched me!" hissed Mrs Granger furiously when her voice was finally restored. "That wizard actually had the nerve to magic me away and–"

"That was me, Mum. I silenced you and drove you over here. Believe me, you do _not_ want to make an enemy of Lucius Malfoy."

"I don't care who he is! No one has the right to–"

"Mum! He's a very powerful dark wizard. He was a supporter of that evil Voldemort I told you about. He could make any Muggle disappear very painfully any time he wished and nobody could prove a thing or have any idea how they disappeared! He already has done so – many times."

Mrs Granger fell silent as they waited at the new counter. After a while she muttered, "Oh."

For the next few minutes she groused about the injustice done to her and her family. "Wait till I tell your father! It's just not right!"

"Mum, don't tell Dad! Lucius Malfoy is high on my list of tasks; let me deal with him."

Mrs Granger stared at her child as they closed in on the counter. She hefted her satchel up and asked the cashier to discretely remove the Muggle money and convert it to Galleons in Hermione Granger's account. "There should be eighteen thousand pounds there. Then we'd like to withdraw fifty Galleons."

While the goblin was busy she turned back to her daughter. "That rude man is one of your 'tasks'?"

Hermione nodded. "Him and his family."

Mrs Granger face went very pale. "You're not going to...?"

"No, Mum, I'm not an assassin. I shall help establish a new order where dark wizards like him will face real justice. But it takes time to do things right so you must avoid confrontation else you won't survive. Meanwhile..." She gestured back towards Malfoy who was ripping up his withdrawal form in a very agitated manner.

"You just cast a spell on him?" said her mother, and a trace of a smirk touched her lips.

"A subtle combination of very mild confusion and bewitched implements. It'll take a few minutes to wear off, so he'll be late for his appointment."

Mrs Granger smiled as she listened to Malfoy shouting obscenities at the goblin, but Hermione was thinking, if he's going to see the Minister, could the withdrawal be for something more than shopping? Had she, by sheer chance, found an opportunity to secure evidence against Malfoy?

She considered this while their own counter assistant meticulously checked their Muggle money, but in the end she decided against her suspicion. It was far too unlikely to be true. Malfoy loudly declaring he was withdrawing Galleons then going to visit the Minister for Magic? He might as well have shouted out his intentions. _That is most odd, now I come to think of it..._

But a flicker of motion in the corner of her eye redirected her attention and changed the course of her pondering. She squinted in Malfoy's direction. What had she seen? Was someone concealed there by a charm? An idea came to her and her mouth fell open in surprise.

"What?" said her mother, who had been watching her closely.

But Hermione was looking up and down the great Gringotts hall for anyone who looked out of place. Might there be Aurors following Malfoy? A tall man in dark blue robes stood next to a central pillar, but he was discussing the lamp fixtures with a goblin guard so could be an employee himself. The fat vampire hadn't left yet; he was waiting by the exit and leering at the throats of any young women who passed near – Malfoy senior's flesh would be too old and stringy for his taste. Two older women were not in any queue but they were chatting together animatedly and not paying any attention to Malfoy. There were others who _were_ queueing but none were well-placed to observe Lucius.

She glanced back at the man in question: Malfoy, still fuming and looking at the wall clock, appeared to have completed his form and was waiting for the goblin to bring his gold. There it was again – the faint flickering motion, and now heading away towards the door! It had not been her imagination.

"Mum, I have to go. Whatever you do, stay here at least ten minutes for your own protection, join other queues if you have to, but stay! If I'm not back then return to the ice cream parlour and wait for me there."

"No, Hermione! No! What's going on?" hissed Mrs Granger under her breath.

But her daughter was already walking swiftly towards the exit and was silently casting a spell to confirm her theory. She perceived the faint outline of a young woman several paces in front of her and hidden under a Disillusionment Charm. As Hermione hurried to catch up, the woman glanced back. Thankfully her eyes were gazing over Hermione's head towards Malfoy. Her features seemed very familiar, although Hermione was unable to recall where she had seen her before.

As the concealed woman left through the open doorway ahead, a hand grabbed Hermione's arm and a voice grunted, "Whatever you think you're up to, child – DON'T!" It was the vampire.

Hermione squirmed around in his grasp. The fat man wasn't grinning anymore – he looked ready to bite her head off. There was no time for this: the woman was escaping, Malfoy's goblin had returned and was counting out Galleons, and Mrs Granger was rushing down the hall towards her daughter.

At this same moment, Hermione felt an inner pulling sensation summoning her attention – it was Aculus! She had to Apparate urgently – but Hermione could not abandon her mother to the unknown, nor leave this situation unresolved. She groaned softly. _What to do?_

Perhaps the vampire heard her whimper for he released his grip. "Just go back to your mother and don't run off again."

The girl looked at his face. One fang was slightly askew. All became suddenly clear. She took two strides towards her mother's approach, gesturing wildly for her to go back. Her mother stopped, uncertain, then hesitantly obeyed. Hermione turned again to the vampire.

"You're working with that woman who just left, aren't you?" – she didn't wait for an answer – "It's a trap. I mean, it's obvious isn't it? Malfoy openly drawing out gold and loudly telling everyone he's off to see the Minister? Hardly likely, is it?"

The half of the fake half-vampire that was human flushed with irritation. "Run along little girl before I–!"

"Do I sound like a little girl? I mean, really? I'm a senior officer working for a magical attachment to Interpol," said Hermione, thinking fast.

"Never heard of them."

"Well you wouldn't have, would you? Listen, it's most likely Malfoy has set this up to entrap you – I've known him do it before. Who was that woman? Where is she headed? Quickly!"

"None of your damn business! Get the hell away from me – he'll be coming past here any minute! You'll ruin everything!"

"She's going to the Minister's department isn't she? She's an Auror like you, right? She'll walk visibly towards the Auror department then conceal herself again while she diverts to the Minister's office. It won't work! They'll have reliable witnesses placed to see her in an unauthorised area without a permit or believable excuse – one quick trial and she'll be in Azkaban."

"Why would they do that?" hissed the fat man. "Why go to the trouble of–"

"Not for her! You don't understand how Malfoy thinks. He'll have set this up to enhance his own standing. Don't you see? He's almost certainly intending to genuinely donate that money in private to some worthy cause."

The man sighed and looked up to the heavens in exasperation. "In private? So nobody knows what a wonderful benefactor he is?"

Hermione outrolled his eyes by at least a couple of swivels. "Once that Auror is caught it won't be secret anymore, will it? The Daily Prophet headline will be: _Auror maliciously accuses Malfoy as he contributes to–_ what? You know something don't you? You must have received information? Anonymous, I'll bet?"

The fake bloodsucker was now looking very worried. "St. Mungo's. That was our info. We heard that under the pretence of a donation he was really bribing Fudge to swing a few more votes in favour of a new law restricting Muggle-borns attending Hogwarts."

Hermione's eyes widened.

The vampire flapped his arms worriedly. "He'll be coming any moment! Go, go, go! Malfoy's gathering up his Galleons!"

Without looking around, Hermione extended the life of her bewitchment. The sound of several coins clinking down onto the marble floor could be heard behind her. "I can't hold him long without suspicion. You must have contact with your partner, yes? Call her off now! Tell her it's a trap. For pity's sake don't let her go anywhere near the Minister's office – someone will be following her!"

The man's face paled more suitably to his vampire disguise again as he pulled out a tiny mirror. "Alice! Cancel! Cancel now! Answer me!"

Hermione gulped. "My goodness, you're Frank Longbottom, aren't you?" Despite the fake teeth and cosmetic padding, she could vaguely see a resemblance to Neville just before he'd been carted off to Azkaban.

"What? What's happened?" came a quiet whisper from the mirror.

"Call me when you're safe, Alice! Get out, I say! NOW!" the man hissed. The woman must have nodded for he seemed satisfied and thrust the mirror back into his pocket – then he turned angrily on Hermione. "If you're lying, I'll– hush! Malfoy's coming!"

Hermione rushed on. "Fudge and Malfoy daren't risk not proceeding with the donation even if Alice doesn't show, so you go to St. Mungo's head office. I'm sure that within the hour you'll find a donation is recorded there for – do you know the amount?"

He nodded. "We heard the bribe would be ten thousand."

"So you'll know I'm telling the truth."

Malfoy strode by them with merely a cursory snarl in Hermione's direction, then he was gone.

Hermione carried on, "Put in a formal written request to your boss to search the Minister's–"

"Are you totally Confunded? Scrimgeour? He'll refuse outright. He'll never risk acting against Fudge without absolute proof up front."

"Exactly, then you'll have the officially rejected request as evidence that you and your wife were not intending to break any rules. That's your alibi should it be needed."

The Auror stared at the little girl, his left fang slowly dribbling down to his chin. "You seem to know an awful lot about things."

"You and Alice will be even more of a target after this – your mother too. I urge you to protect your homes with the Fidelius Charm – consult with Albus Dumbledore if you need help with that."

Frank's eyes were now wide open. "What! You believe my family is at risk!"

"Certainly! But your son will become even more isolated. Introduce him to a trusted friend in a similar situation. You know who I mean."

"Harry Black? But there are rumours about the Blacks that–"

"Not all the Blacks are bad. Harry will never turn to the dark! Both children will benefit. Think about it over the summer, Frank."

The man shook his head in bewilderment. "This is astonishing advice that appears to be coming out of the mouth of a little girl. I'm a professional. I cannot be expected to keep all this from my wife and my associates."

"Yes, which is why..." began Hermione.

Frank Longbottom felt tendrils of suggestions teasing into his mind. It seemed as if he'd been talking to an Interpol agent named Adam Brown – a big man with a deep voice, but he couldn't remember his face. Brown had warned him about the trap at the Ministry. Frank had to go to St. Mungo's to make sure. He blinked rapidly to try to clear his head. Adam must have already left. Frank headed off to the hospital in a hurry. If what Adam Brown had told him was true, then he and his wife had just had a narrow escape.

.

The Manse Address

"What kept you?" said Aculus softly as Hermione Apparated beside him. They were concealed behind a large industrial waste container. "She's gone – quick, quick, read the message, perhaps I can still catch her!"

"She? She who?" Hermione took the folded sheet of paper from the raven's claw and opened it up.

 _Mike Worthing lives at Oakside Manse, Tunbridge Wells, Kent._

She had barely committed it to memory when Aculus seized it in his beak and winged rapidly away. Hermione sprinted down the street after him, but as she approached the corner it was apparent that a busy market lay ahead. Hermione slipped into a shop doorway and Disapparated – Aculus could find her if he needed to.

.

Spare The Rod?

Mrs Granger was waiting anxiously on the front steps of Gringotts bank when Hermione came out from behind one of the main columns of the facade. They examined each other silently for a few moments, conscious of the goblin sentry nearby, then the woman took her daughter's hand and they set off for Fortescue's without a word.

"I'm alright, Mum, honestly."

"Not sure I'll ever get used to this to'ing and fro'ing," murmured Mrs Granger. "What'll we tell the Blacks? It's nearly thirty minutes! Look, there they are!"

Harry came running to meet them in their last few strides. Sirius was on his feet with a concerned look.

"Sorry," called Mrs Granger with a resigned smile. "Queued for ages then some arrogant soandso pushed in front of us."

"Your Neo's melting," said Hestia. "You'll find it's lost its bite."

"Sirius," a passing woman's voice greeted with cold formality as she swept by without pausing.

"Perhaps just as well," said Anne, eyes widening at a collapsing mound of chocolate ice cream with a pink forked tongue dribbling out between long white molars.

"Narcissa..." acknowledged Sirius with a frown to the passer-by. He sat down looking rather deflated.

Harry laughed. "Here's your Snowcono, Hermione, we tried to keep it cold but it's already, erm–"

"–erupted," she finished for him, though her attention was on the rather grand, blonde-haired lady who had just walked by with her son. "Never mind, it usually fizzes up my nose any... way..."

She stared at the back of the passing boy's head – it was Draco Malfoy. He was still a tiny youngster and sweetly clutching his mother's hand. Might they both yet be turned? Could those two be spared her plans for them? Jealous spite twisted Draco's features as he glanced back at the various ice creams that the Blacks and Grangers were enjoying. Hermione's own expression must have displayed her distaste for she caught sight of a puzzled Hestia watching her face.

"He reminds me of that git who was rude to us in Gringotts," she explained hastily.

"Malfoy?" said Sirius. "Lucius Malfoy was the one in Gringotts?"

"Throwing his weight about like he owned the place," said Anne Granger as she viciously stabbed the Monster Neo in the nose with a spoon. It sneezed and icy yellow snot spat out onto her frock coat. She grimaced, wondering where next to attack her dessert.

"Steer clear of them is my advice," said Hestia.

"Yes, that's what Hermione... that's what I... what we thought too, didn't we?"

"Yes, I keep watching out to steer Harry away from people like that," said Hermione. She began to dig into her coconut Snowcono; hot treacle, steaming and glowing redly, began to flow like lava down the sides.

"Good for you," said Sirius.

"I can watch out for myself!" said Harry. "I'm seven now!"

"That's right," said Hermione, quickly, spoon suspended, "that means we can watch out for each other, right, Harry? Get all the naughty people locked up like that woman's sister and her family!"

He nodded eagerly as he watched Hermione gulp down another spoonful, and wishing he'd not beaten down his Terrormissu quite so quickly.

Sirius looked at Hermione very curiously. "Andromeda? What do you mean?"

"No, the Lestranges," said Hermione. "Can you help me with this, Harry? It's a bit big for one person to eat." She passed him a spoon and watched his eyes brighten as he quickly started on her dish.

Sirius shook his head as if trying to clear it of some confusion. "The Darkrise brotherhood? What have they got to–"

Hermione was admiring Harry's skill at gently blowing aside the candy smoke from her Vesuvian dessert. "No, I was speaking of Bellatrix."

Hestia and Sirius exchanged puzzled glances before Sirius said, "Bella has no other immediate family except for Andromeda and Narcissa. You do know they're all sisters?"

Alarm bells rang in Hermione's head and she bit her lip in regret. What had she said? She dare not relax her guard for a moment. Had Rodolphus not married Bellatrix in this world? Weren't they all locked up in Azkaban? _No, of course they're not!_ She cringed – feeling drained suddenly, as if the effort of ongoing deceit had weakened her magic. She clutched the edge of the table to stop herself slumping in her seat.

Hestia frowned and appeared to be about to question her but Sirius spoke first. "Andromeda? What do you mean?" He was looking at Hermione very curiously.

 _Had he not already said that?_ Harry was still eyeing her Snowcono and licking his lips. She passed him a spoon, and suffered an overwhelming sensation she had already done so once. _It's happening again! – déjà vu!_

"Hermione?"

The young girl waited a few seconds more until she felt her magic restoring itself. "Sorry, Sirius, I was trying to remember what I'd said. Did I say 'family'? I meant 'friends', friends of her sister, Bellatrix. I read..."

"Yes?"

"Sorry, I meant... what I meant was... I read an article in the Daily Prophet that Rodolphus had a..." She squealed as if suddenly self-conscious and cast a blushing charm upon herself. "A reporter wrote he had a _crusth_ on _Bellatrixth!"_ She jumped up and began to re-examine the window menu with her back to them.

"A what?" said Sirius.

"She means a crush," whispered Mrs Granger, coming to her daughter's rescue, then mouthed, "Now, she's embarrassed. She often lisps when nervous."

"Oh, I see..." said Sirius, not seeing at all.

Meanwhile, Hermione was thinking furiously about what she must have mixed up. The later history books of her time had revealed that Voldemort had ordered Bellatrix to marry Rodolphus because his father had decreed no unmarried Lestrange could have access to the family vault. It had been rumoured there was something hidden there. _Of course! In this changed world, he never made any Horcruxes so there was no Hufflepuff Cup to be kept safe – therefore, Bellatrix and Rodolphus were not married!_ Then she thought over her previous conversation with Hestia about the Longbottoms, and she whirled around again, to blurt out:

"So, Bellatrix and the Lestranges are definitely not in Azkaban? Nor Crouch junior?"

The Blacks both looked astonished at her outburst. "Of course not – she's the most wanted person in the country! Crouch was in prison for the murder of several Muggles, though. He led the Helm until it was disbanded and he was caught."

"The what?"

"The Helm – one of the gangs that rose up after You-know-you died," said Hestia, "Honestly, Hermione, I thought you'd researched your history."

"Not well enough, it seems," said Hermione mournfully, as she watched Harry swallow the last of her Snowcono.

"Tell me, did Mrs Crouch visit her son in Azkaban. And did they both die soon after?"

Hestia nodded and looked at Sirius for confirmation. "They certainly did; poor Mr Crouch took it very badly. Hermione, you do ask the strangest questions. You ought not to be thinking about such as this at your age."

But Hermione had her head on one side as if listening. The invocation of Aculus was positive, suggesting he'd had success; Hermione needed to meet with him again quickly. "Mum, we've got everything we need, and I'm feeling a bit weary. Can we finish up and go home? If the Malfoys are shopping, then I've lost my appetite."

"Was it something I said?" whispered Hestia to her husband as they watched the Grangers return to the Leaky Cauldron on their way home. "I suspect she had another little burst of accidental magic and it tired her out."

"Not surprised. The sight of the Malfoys would make even a bog troll puke."

.

By a Thread

After Apparating her mother back home, Hermione wanted to rest for a few more minutes until the drop in her magic was full recovered. Fortunately, it was not necessary to Apparate again because the raven was already in the larch tree. She was quickly diverted from worrying about the recent déjà vu experience.

"You foresee much, Mistress; did you know Mike Worthing is dying?"

Hermione gasped. "I hadn't realised his illness began so early; perhaps I forgot."

"You forgot? How so?"

"Aculus, I have no intention of keeping anything of significance from you; my future is not merely a vision – I have lived it. The Fates decreed I might slip back to my youth to try again, yet keeping my magic and knowledge. However, I never knew Mike Worthing personally, I only knew _of_ him. That he is a ruthless businessman, everyone knows, but in my time he also became a benefactor."

The intelligent bird tilted its head to show his interest. Hermione continued:

"It was public knowledge that Worthing was kept alive for years by the healers at St. Mungo's – but I had no idea it had been over three decades! I do know he gradually deteriorated to a wheelchair and thence to a prolonged deathbed. But in the 2020's a significant breakthrough was made by a Muggle geneticist into their understanding of his type of malady – what _they_ call 'cancer'." Hermione hesitated, emotion showing on her face.

"Another wizard – a very great wizard – shared Mike's hospital ward and informed him of the new treatment, encouraging him to forgo his prejudices and accept the Muggle medication which by then was having great success. It was one of the wizard's last acts before he sadly passed on himself. There was no cure for the extreme chronic melancholy which took his will to live."

There was silence for a few moments while the raven waited for Hermione to compose herself. A breeze sprang up, ruffling his feathers and stirring the mix of yellow-green larch needles, then he said softly, "It was Harry Potter, wasn't it? The other wizard?"

Hermione nodded, then looked Aculus severely in the eye. "On no account ever mention this to young Harry. He was barely forty-three when he died –though he looked much older."

"I shall not; you have my word, Mistress, but..." – the raven paused – "can Harry not then be saved? Either of them?"

"My purpose in life is to help Harry; that is why I am here. His life hangs by a thread. It is our social systems that are frayed and rotten. As the 'Boy Who Lived' he will be targeted by dark wizards even though Voldemort is no more. Even if he survives their malice, his friends might not, and that loss is what killed him before – not the Dark Lord."

"And Mike Worthing?"

"As for Mike... I hope the healers can again keep him alive and free from pain long enough because, sadly, he must suffer another thirty years or so before the Muggles discover the cure for what ails him. The most I can do is reveal to him that future – he is critical to our plans."

"Perhaps his daughter might take his place if not. His entire commercial know-how is being stored for her to access and he sounds confident she has both the will and the ability to continue his success."

"Was she the one who carried the message? The secret address? She is already involved in his trade?"

"Yes – Isobel is destined to take over Mike's business on his death. I teased the note back into her bag without her knowing I was even there. Her mother is the Secret Keeper. She–"

"Mrs Worthing? Not Mike?"

"His wife, Catherine, yes. You'll be reassured to hear that he cares for and protects his family; they are the reason for the Fidelius Charm. He has a son a year or two younger than Isobel and two younger children also."

"And his elves?"

"He treats them firmly but fairly – that is my view."

Hermione thought for a few moments. "You mentioned that Mike is storing his business knowledge for his daughter, Isobel; you mean he is compiling a library of information?"

"I have seen them using a runic bowl. I do not know if that–"

"A Pensieve? Mike Worthing has a Pensieve? ... They are rare and expensive; it will be most useful to have an ally with such a device."

"Very well, I must make preparations for a visit during the next few weeks..."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I've had a rush of creativity this week and will be posting an additional new story in the next day or two – maybe even this evening. It's about 6 x 5K chapters and is Harry/Luna with Neville/Ginny. No title yet but watch out for it very soon! It's all done but for polishing so it won't interfere with Chance of a Lifetime's updates._

 _A guest reviewer of the previous chapter pointed out that I'd used 'sat' instead of 'sitting'. I agree it can sound ugly if you're not used to it but it is in fact established British English (some other commonwealth countries too, I believe.) I've given this some additional thought and scanned my main document and the British usage does occur quite a few times. I've considered changing them all but decided against it so you may see it happen in future chapters – both in chapters that are already written but not yet published, and in new chapters simply because it is natural to me (and therefore not easy to detect.) However, I shall be more inclined to use 'sitting' if I remember, because both forms are correct in British English, and 'sitting' appears to be more global. Good call anyway._

 _Although I think I'm putting in all the key elements, some readers find my writings confusing and even tedious. The boring parts, I hope, are mostly subjective. Some like revolution and politics, others hate that and want a fun romance or a quest for an amazing relic. I hope that's all it is and that my scenes are not actually written in a boring way. To me they are a delight._

 _Okay, now the confusion and mystery. I thought it was all there in the story but I'll explain it anyway. Some mysteries of course, are intended to be in the fiction and unfold later. (Those of you who could follow the story without a problem can ignore this.)_

 _Although initially driven by love for Harry, Hermione has already seen the fate of mankind is a dreadful one. Billions will suffer and die and likely the remnant will become extinct too eventually. She believes the reason is that mankind has evolved in two directions – magical and scientific – and both need to work in harmony for the species to continue. Her future adult self already could see most of what was needed but it was too late. Now she has plans to influence both societies that they might ultimately blend in some degree and help one another to survive. Although Hermione is powerful, it is unrealistic to simply storm the Magical Ministry and the Houses of Parliament. Even if she forced a benign dictatorship on Britain, the problem is global. No, her task is to gradually change society and set an example for the rest of the world. That is a lifetime's task and she cannot do it alone. That is why the last chapter was called Gathering Support. She knows the key characters from her future life who can help make the difference. That will be the background theme throughout these books while the foreground will be the exciting (I hope!) adventures with her friends and new enemies, especially at Hogwarts._

 _I like to show and hint and imply rather than directly explain in the narrative. I do hope everyone understands that Adam Brown is really Hermione generally disguised by Polyjuice (or in the case of Frank Longbottom, a Legilimensic suggestion?) That she is doing that because professional adults are unlikely to take a young girl seriously? If anything else needs explaining then let me know specifically what, but I think I've covered the essentials here. As for the dull parts, all you can do is skip them because I aim for variety and everything I put in is essential to the storytelling and not boring to me at all – quite the opposite. But keep me informed and I shall strive to improve. Still, when I think about it, I found small parts of Lord of the Rings boring and unclear so maybe my effort is not so bad after all._

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

.


	10. 0:Judgement Day

.

 _So far... By the summer of 1987, The reborn Hermione has befriended Harry and his family (Sirius and Hestia Black) and is recruiting supporters to the cause of rooting out Ministry corruption. Read on..._

.

 **Chapter 10**

 **Judgement Day**

* * *

.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Although the Grangers garden shed had become Hermione's gold foundry and a place to brew any especially volatile potions, her 'mission control' was primarily a spare bedroom which she had enlarged with a spell. It was overdue for an additional stretch. Benches and shelving filled much of the space, and most were stacked and jammed with reference books, archived newspapers, ingredient containers, and other witchy paraphernalia.

It was well after dark, one month before Hermione's eighth birthday; thunder rumbled distantly and raindrops had begun to glisten in the lamplight reflected from the window. She rose up from her research, stretched wearily, and went to look out. The last half of August was sulking in its own humidity. She recalled a bad-weather-day in her past life – a howling wind had her huddled under the bedclothes before running into her parents' room to be comforted.

She smiled sadly at her younger self's unnecessary fear and at her own ignorance: if only she had taken the trouble to memorise other events from the coming months and years. Yes, cooler weather would follow in a week or two, she recalled, marking the end of summer, but what significant occurrences might help in her quest? She glanced back at the scattered Daily Prophets and Quibblers – some events would change but much would remain the same. _London, 1987..._ she pondered, _Ah yes, of course! It wasn't THIS little storm that scared me – it was something much worse!_

With a low growl, the sky flickered, silhouetting the larch tree – but Farrimond was out hunting. She glanced at her watch: well after eleven – her parents were most probably asleep. A wave of weariness told her she ought to be so too; old memories did not reduce the needs of a young mind.

The invocation of Aculus came as she turned to go to her own room. Something between a groan and a sigh of resignation was exhaled from the girl's lips. The weeks of waiting for Mike Worthing to be alone prompted her not to delay the summons for a single moment. She walked to a rack of vials, picked out a bottle of Polyjuice potion, poured enough for one hour into a goblet, then dropped in a single hair from the box marked 'Adam' that stood beside the rack. She drank. After dressing in a man's robe, and pulling on big boots, her final task was to draw a tendril of memory from the side of her temple and place it in a vial which she then secured in her pocket.

.

The Lab Technician's Memory

In the near-darkness of his study, Mike Worthing reached cautiously for his wand. Greater London, including Kent, was being soaked by the last of the lazy summer storms, but it wasn't thunder he had heard; someone – or _something_ – uninvited was with him in the room!

"Come out, I know you're there!" His back was stiff but not so sore as to stop him getting to his feet and casting a little additional illumination. He blinked in the sudden glare. The youngest kids were away holidaying with friends, and Catherine and Isobel would never enter his office without knocking. His son ought to be asleep but...

"Terry?" Mike peered at the figure of a man near the door – it was shadowy and vague despite the light, and far too big to be his son. A sudden bright flash of lightning revealed the ghostly translucency of the intruder, and Mike shuddered with the thunderclap that followed. "How did you get in here! Are you a friend of Terry's? Of Isobel?" – he knew the apparition was not.

"Neither, but I do offer _you_ friendship," was the reply in a soft deep voice. "I come to bring you opportunities, hope, and a little relief from your burden, Mike."

The cautious businessman frowned. "In return for what?"

"All that I offer, I give freely."

"Yet you sneak into my home at night! How is that even poss–?"

The whites of his eyes suddenly flashed in the uneven glare, and his wand was high a moment later. "Stupef–!"

Even before he could complete the incantation, the wand had spun from Worthing's grasp towards the visitor and clattered against the toes of the apparition's size twelve boots which – for only that moment – were solid enough to casually kick it aside.

The big man – unharmed by the curse – sighed and floated forward through one of the two panelled pillars in the centre of the large room. "While I am immaterial you cannot harm me."

Worthing cringed back, and his voice was an emotional croak. "No wizard can pass through a Fidelius protection without leave of the Secret Keeper! What manner of creature are you? What have you done with my wife?"

"Calm yourself. I have never seen your wife; I'm sure she is fine. I am no creature but I am as you see..."

The man became fully opaque, yet his face remained a shadowy enigma. He drew his own wand, pointed it back over his shoulder, and summoned Mike's which then proceeded to float forward and present itself with a flourish to its original owner. Mike Worthing stared at it doubtfully for a few moments then snatched it out of the air. "So, you think you have proved you are superior but nonaggressive? I shall need more than that to be convinced you mean no harm."

"What do you care – you who are already dying!" cried the visitor. "Take a seat, Mike, physical exertion is not good for you at this time."

A chair hovered itself into position behind the shaking man. He felt it nudge the back of his legs invitingly.

"I shall not rest until I know you do not threaten my family!"

"It is because you are a caring man that I am here. There is an opportunity for you to do much good through the coming years."

"I shall not be around that long, shall I!" cried Mike.

"Why then have you not taken yourself to the healers?"

"I have consulted with them. They can extend my life only if I receive continual treatment at St. Mungo's but I cannot spare the time; I need to first prepare my daughter and provide for the welfare of my family when I am gone."

"You will not succeed, Mike. They are all going to die – your entire family."

The wandlight failed but even the dingy yellow lamplight was enough to reveal the pallor of Mike Worthing's shocked expression as he sank back onto the chair. "Why?" he gasped. "What are they to you? ... Take me, but please spare them," he added in a tiny voice.

"I'm sorry, Mike. It is not I, nor even magic that will kill them."

"Then what?"

"You have, I believe, a Pensieve?"

Worthing blinked at the sudden change of subject. "Wha...?"

"A Pensieve? A runic memory bowl? You have one?"

Mike nodded involuntarily. His mouth moved wordlessly as he tried to process the new direction of their conversation – as well as the implications of losing all his valuable knowledge to the stranger. He whispered near-inaudibly, "No... you cannot..."

But the big man smiled reassuringly. "It is not _your_ memories I seek to expose, but one I have brought with me. I am known as Adam Brown. I foresee the ruination of mankind. I wish to show you what is to come and the demise of your home and family."

Mike was clutching his chair and swaying. " _Help me... please help me..._ "

The intruder sprang sideways in the direction of Mike's gaze and opened the cupboard he was indicating. "I'm sorry, Mr Worthing! I'm so sorry. I didn't expect your illness to be so far advanced!" The tone of the deep voice had turned quite childish but Mike was in too much pain to notice.

"The green vial..." he gasped.

"This one...?" Adam Brown unstoppered the potion and held the rim of the bottle to the thin line of Mike's lips, cradling the back of his head with the other hand.

"I'll be alright now, thank you." Mike straightened himself up and a little colour showed again in his cheeks.

Adam also seemed to compose himself. "I ought not to have assumed... that is, I ought not to have used shock to persuade a good man to do what is right. I apologise."

There was a strange look on Mike's face. "Who are you, really?"

"I was... I _ever am,_ a Gryffindor; it is still difficult for me to wholly trust a Slytherin, let alone believe you might help save the world – both magical and Muggle."

"Why should I help them? They are not my concern."

"You hate Muggles?" Adam knew the answer but was giving his host time to recover.

"I have no particular interest in them. Clearly we wizards have superiority because they have no magical ability."

"And if I could persuade you of their equality? Of their vast superiority in fields other than magic?"

"Impossible," said Worthing. ... "How?"

"The Pensieve, is it in this room?"

Mike gestured to a cabinet not far from the window. He raised his wand then lowered it again. "Would you? I'm not quite strong enough yet."

The bowl was summoned onto the main desk and Adam helped Mike to sit beside it.

"You London traders travel a lot?" said Adam. "You know the central area well? Muggle landmarks, that sort of thing?"

Another nod.

"These insights are as memories." Adam took a tiny vial from a pocket in his robes, and, with his wand drew out a silvery tendril which he shook off into the Pensieve then swirled around. "Come..."

Hesitantly, Mike lowered his face close to the surface of the liquid, and peered down. The inside of the grey bowl now seemed immensely wide and high, so much so that he suffered a slight sense of vertigo. He braced himself, pressed his face to the surface, then descended into the memory. Adam followed.

Around them was a gloomy, flattened amphitheatre that stretched to the horizon. But this glassy crater had no seating – only desolate, stone rubble, cracked and broken and blackened. The sky was a turmoil of grey dust and grim clouds giving an effect of twilight, except occasionally a lighter area above suggested the toiling sun was striving to its midday zenith. A single ghostly old woman dressed in a filthy white laboratory coat sat upon a coarse block of concrete, weeping.

"Who is she? It's a cruel penance to endure alone. What is this place? A cold and crippled hell? Is this my destiny too when I go on?"

Mike regarded the woman gloomily for a while, judging her to be only in her mid-sixties yet with thick bushy hair as silvery-grey as any centenarian. _Broken down in her prime – and by what?_ He yearned vainly to comfort her but knew she could be naught now but a memory.

He scanned around once more; there were no other people nor any living creature in sight.

"How did you come by this recollection? Is it _her_ memory? It must be. She died... _here?_ Yet you obtained the memory from her ghost? How?"

Adam did not answer immediately; he had closed his eyes tightly as if to block out the blasphemy of the woman's plight. Finally, he opened his eyes.

"She is long dead and of no importance to us," the big man said bitterly, and there was a catch in his voice. "Her name was Hermione; she grieves endlessly for all that has been lost."

As they watched and waited, the transparent lady eventually arose and, still sobbing, began picking her lonely way forward through the debris. The two men followed.

The spectral woman stopped before a great masonry block, toppled but almost intact. Its surface was pitted and scarred. A darkness had fallen across it, yet her translucency cast no shadow. The woman fell to her knees as if in prayer.

"Recognise anything?"

Mike shook his head. "Should I? In this world below worlds?"

Adam's large boot kicked meaningfully against a curved, flattened fold of heavily encrusted metal enwrapped by a melted tangle of struts; he gestured down at it with his head. Mike stared. He gasped. "Is that...?"

"Remnants of a baby carriage – yes. Taken for a walk to visit the–"

"Great Merlin! How? A young mother in this lost netherworld? Where is...?"

"The child?" Adam caught Mike's attention, eye to eye, before he continued. "Partly smeared within the crush and the rest sprayed by the fiercest, hottest wind you can conceive. That stain next to it was the mother, no doubt. Likely the husband is that shadow ahead – scorched vapour is all."

Mike clutched at where his stomach normally would be but he had no physicality in this memory. He wafted his hand frantically in front of his face as if to suck in enough air, but he did not even stir the lethal mirk. The woman hobbled onward as in a dream, but Mike shook his head vigorously.

Adam said, "Do you not wish to follow her? to know why that family was here, Mike?"

"I desire only to leave this place, but your manner suggests it would be wise to endure..."

They proceeded through the chaos. Mike Worthing had often used his Pensieve but never before experienced a sensation of weight as he did now; a strange burden seemed to be pressing heavily upon his imaginary body as he espied half-familiar scraps of human indignities. "How did they get to this alien place? I heard that Muggles have reached the moon; is that what this world is? Muggles cannot vanish their waste as we do, so they deliver it here? Broken furniture, useless building debris, even their dead?"

Again the ghostly woman stopped, this time before an extended scattering of debris.

"What do you make of it?" said Adam. He and Mike stood before a lengthy stone block against the side of which lay a heavily eroded form – three times human size and outline, but melted, fused, and twisted grotesquely. If the shape still had a face, it was looking at them bitterly.

"A fallen statue?" said Mike. "But why send it here into this madness?"

"It was never discarded waste, Mike, it was constructed at this location."

"Here? Why?"

"Consider the figure to be originally upright, and atop a tall pillar," said Adam, softly, "just about ... there." He pointed to where the woman stood looking around mournfully in all directions. She buried her face in her hands and emitted a faint, high-pitched wail.

The wind blew visibly across the bleak, dusty landscape, and, though he could not feel the weather, Mike shuddered. Reluctantly, beginning in a kind of awed whisper but rising to a shrill cry, he said, "It was a monument erected right here? We can't still be on Earth! For pity's sake, Brown, we just can't!" – he wished to shake the shoulders of his apparently-calm escort but could not – "Where then are we!"

"Not just any monument, Mike. This is all that remains of Nelson's column."

Mike Worthing looked dazedly about, shaking his head – more as a gesture to the man with him than to perceive anything he might have missed. "But wh... I don't understand. What is this deathly field? What are you saying?"

"This is – or was – Trafalgar Square. It's all gone."

"It cannot be... no, you're wrong. See? there'd be other buildings around here. I've travelled through often so–"

"All gone."

"No, you don't understand me, Brown. I mean beyond the buildings that surround the square. We're in London, remember?"

"All gone. Westminster, Big Ben, Parliament, even Diagon Alley – all of the greater city and suburbs and most of the home counties. All gone in one flash."

Mike's eyes widened in disbelief and horror. "NO! NO! Wh-Where's–! Which direction is–!" He gnawed hopelessly through his phantom knuckles.

"Kent was that way, Mike. I'm sorry." He pointed to where the sky was darkest.

"Was? WAS, you say! My family are there! When did this happen! Yesterday? How long ago! They might yet be alive!" In a panic, he turned instinctively on the spot, then, when Disapparition failed, he began to run, stumbling through and over piles of bricks and masonry clutter. He did not get far – no further than the woman had remembered seeing. Brown watched him walking back as the memory ended and they were abruptly returned to Worthing's study.

"It's not a past memory, Mike, it's the likely future, but with your help it can be changed."

Adam let him alone for many minutes while the man ruminated on the experience. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed there was only fifteen minutes left before his Polyjuice wore off.

"What do I do?" said Mike, eventually.

"First you report to St. Mungo's. They can commence treatment that will delay the growth within you for decades. Initially, you need only spend occasional days there so the rest of the time you will be free to continue working without pain. Eventually, they will insist you spend more time under bewitchments at the hospital, and be confined to a wheelchair. They'll confirm there is no cure – but they will be wrong."

"What! How can–! You mean...?"

"In 2023, a Muggle researcher, working alone in the field of genetics, will make a significant breakthrough. By the following year, she will have made the remedy available freely to terminal patients despite opposition by the drug companies."

"A cure? ... I won't die? You're certain?" Mike's eyes were bright with shining hope for the first time in several years, then he said quietly, "You have no idea what this means to me – to expect death... then to be spared."

Adam replied just as softly, "Believe me, Mike, I _do_ know."

"It was her, wasn't it? That woman we saw in the Pensieve? 'Hermione', you called her? But what happens to _her?_ I can't bear it if she saves me, yet her ghost suffers that pitiless waste endlessly! What year was that we saw?"

"It was April, 2044. A terrorist with a single de-orbiting plasma drone vaporised the city and irradiated many miles around it. In that same month, the atrocity was repeated in several other British cities as well as throughout the world. In Britain, less than a million people survived... for a while."

Mike understood enough to shake his head in denial but Adam continued, "Do not trouble yourself. That woman was no ghost but had rendered herself semi-visible for safety and immaterial so the intense radiation would pass harmlessly through her. Later in life, she abandoned both magic and science for a while before accepting that wickedness is in neither way of life – it is in their misuse. Using both, and her wide-ranging skills and powers, she helped establish several of the larger village-states and lived long enough to wish she hadn't. Eventually, in despair, she again gave up magic and science as both being too late to save mankind."

Mike Worthing blinked away tears. "Your mother? She taught you that immateriality spell?" He sought closely some likeness in Adam's face but the shadowy features flowed and flickered obscurely. "No, no, that cannot be right – she'd be much older..."

Adam watched him working it out.

"She's you, isn't she? You're her? You're Hermione."

Adam's laughter boomed out dryly. "Come on now, Mike. How could that be possible? That woman would still be little more than a baby this year, wouldn't she? – maybe seven or eight at most."

Mike wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Your daughter then...? She was – is – your daughter?"

"You need only know she was a Muggle-born yearning for knowledge and truth and meaning. In a long life, the witch had several careers within both the magical and Muggle communities – including the genetic research which will save your life and–"

"Thank her for me then, if you can," cut in Mike. "And if you can bless her in some way, then do that too, for my sake."

Adam needed a few seconds before he could reply, "She shall know what you have said, Mike – you have my word."

He turned away for a few moments longer, deep in thought, then glanced at the wall clock again. "Listen, I have to leave but I will return to discuss how your business skills, your Muggle trading knowledge, and your Ministry connections could help the future of our world. You will not be alone; others will play their part too. Meanwhile, with your daughter's help, your business will be fine."

"Wait! There is a lot I still want to know! How is it that Muggle technology can be so powerful, so... superior to magic? Even Voldemort and Dumbledore together could not have reduced a city – indeed, the entire world – to ash."

"That is something for you to ponder. Goodbye, Mike..."

Adam faded as he drifted slowly backwards through the closed upper-floor window into mid-air, back into the dying thunderstorm with a last flash and a crash and a dying rumble, then he was gone.

"Perhaps a teensy bit over-melodramatic?" smirked the unseeable Aculus while they glided down together to the agreed woodland Disapparition point.

"Oh, I think I made an impression," said Hermione as the Polyjuice enchantment began to fail, "I thought it went rather well."

.

Duplicity

The last days of August were quite busy for Hermione. She helped Harry study and practise with his trainer wand as usual – while pretending to learn herself. Perhaps she did absorb a little from Madam Gawtley's clever guidance after all, especially about Harry himself.

Certainly Hermione had become more aware that Harry had been rather too coddled by Sirius and Hestia's love. The tough, sharp edge she'd noticed when first they'd met on the Hogwarts Express was blunted. Hermione had heard a commotion and paused in the train's corridor – that was when she'd heard Harry say, _I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks._

She'd almost forgotten that! A tingle had ran up her spine and the hair on the back of her neck had pricked up as the eleven-year-old Harry had bravely confronted Malfoy and his gang who then had run off after some sort of brawl. Yes, yes, there had been sweets all over the floor and, too bashful to praise Harry for his courage, she had rather sniffily told him and Ron to get their school robes on and practically accused them of fighting!

What a bossy know-it-all she had been! Harry's daring and his reckless disregard for rules had been the correct approach all along when dealing with troublemakers like Malfoy. Well, the Dursleys had been responsible for toughening up Harry in her previous life; this time _she_ would help temper him _without_ the cruelty. Hopefully, he would be prepared for the rough-and-tumble of Hogwarts by the next time they travelled on that train.

Hermione also spent extra time researching events of recent years in the archives of the Daily Prophet. She could not take for granted that all the events of her previous life were still true – the experience at Fortescue's ice cream parlour had demonstrated that. After a momentary lapse of concentration, she had almost given hints of her prior knowledge to the Blacks. Certainly their suspicions would have been aroused if she had not stopped herself in time, and the less that knew, the less chance there would be of her being uncovered by a temporary lapse like her own had been.

On the threshold of Flourish and Blotts, she paused. The invisible raven on her shoulder cocked his head on one side but said nothing that might interrupt the thoughts of his mistress. The witch sighed today with a man's sigh but her doubts and fears were still those of a young girl. The other event at the ice cream parlour had unnerved her even more than the Blacks' suspicions. The cause of her seeing déjà vu glimpses of the near future was still unresolved. She had already searched for answers in Knockturn Alley's occult bookshops but perhaps the answer lay here under her nose within the most popular information store? She pushed on in.

Another year or two, and Hermione might pass as a small eleven-year-old seeking school books, but for now, she was Polyjuiced as a well-dressed middle-aged man, short and bald with a fat paunch, and felt rather out of place because the shop was crowded with children buying school books.

A young shop girl guided her unnecessarily to the Magical History section then – perhaps seeing the potential of a nice tip from a wealthy-looking customer – stood politely nearby in case further help were needed. But Hermione knew most of these lovely books like the back of her hands! Little had changed apart from the addition of two or three newer editions. She slid out a favourite then pushed it back. Which of these many reference works might mention anyone suffering from her own malady?

Taking out _Wizards and Witches Down the Ages_ she began to browse but was distracted with happy thoughts evoked by the excited chatter of the children around her. Her mind went back to those delightful days leading up to her admission into Hogwarts. The endless pages of enchantment! The discoveries! The delights of new knowledge! The amazing tales of witches and wizards past and present! There had been the exciting promise of the train journey and meeting other new magical students including Harry and Ron – and goodness! Her mind froze in astonishment. Was that Ron she had just glimpsed through a gap in the shelves, here and now in Flourish and Blotts!

Blinking, Hermione turned aside before remembering she could not be recognised. Peering through the tall shelf of books she focused on the back of the head of red hair. Wait! Ron would not be eleven yet, nor would he be so avidly studying a book in the Potions section. Might it be... Percy? There was no doubt when the boy turned and his serious expression came into view. "This primer, I think, Mum."

Eyes wide, Hermione tilted her head sideways to see Mrs Weasley – still plump but younger-looking and without the tragic care lines of her older, bent self when she had laid a tiny posy of dark blue hyacinths upon her husband's coffin to convey an unspeakable anguish.

"Are you alright, Mister?" piped up the shop assistant behind her.

Hermione became aware of the tears glistening down her own cheeks, and quickly began rubbing them away with the back of her hand as she turned. Then she stopped still in shock, her hand still pressed motionless against her stubbly man-face. It was not the shop assistant who had spoken.

"Are you poorly?" the girl spoke again. It was a tiny, six-year-old Ginny with her hand clutched by...

"RON!" Hermione could not have stopped herself blurting out the name even if she had tried. The little boy blinking up at her with a comically-bewildered expression had been her friend, lover, husband, and ultimately, her burden. Now he was a concerned brother tugging his little sister away from the peculiar old man who was crying into his book.

"Do we know you?" The-hands-on-hips stance conveyed Molly Weasley's question as more of a challenge. Beside her stood Percy and the twins with Ron and Ginny now peeping out from behind their mother stout hips: most of the Weasley clan facing off against a cornered deviant trapped in a dead-end aisle.

"Uuh... sorry, no, but... erm... the Weasleys..." Hermione thought quickly. "Well, you Weasleys were well-known and admired for standing up against You-know-who. It was a shock to see my heroes in reality. Sorry, I get emotional these days – I lost a lot of friends myself." She held up her book. "I was just reading about some of the dark wizard's victims." Hermione hoped they wouldn't check the narrative she had open because it might have been about anyone from Merlin to Merwyn the Malicious.

But Mrs Weasley was all sympathy now. "Well, yes, of course. I understand. We'll leave you in peace. Come along children."

With shoulders still tense, Hermione watched them shuffle along to the Charms section.

"Did poor 'iddle Ronniekins have a nasty fwight?" she heard Fred say, followed by an added jibe from George that she couldn't quite hear. But she did see Ron shrink a little from his previous brave-protective-brother posture.

Hermione winced. In an intimate moment, Ron had once invited her into his mind. He had not mastered Legilimency himself, though he'd had partial success with Occlumency. But that vulnerable night, despite all their differences, they had been so close he'd wanted her even nearer. The experience was a shock. She understood as never before how deeply, deeply hurt Ron had been when Harry – already with so many great accomplishments – had become Hogwarts Tri-wizard Champion. Yet well before that, the long-term badgering by the twins had been as cruel as any pack of wild dogs against a sibling runt. Ron's innocent young mind had been crucified and permanently scarred. Yet further in his mind she'd also seen the parental admiration focused on his other brothers which had added to his already-damaged self-worth. Without meaning to, and without ever knowing it, his own family – including herself – had driven Ron to his self-destruction.

She and Ron had cried together that night, and Mr Weasley had dragged his son's drunken corpse from the river Otter less than a week later. Poor, brave, loyal, never-quite-good-enough Ron. He had always remained faithful but in the end, even his own wife had overshadowed him.

A bitterness seized the young-old witch and one hand moved softly through the air. Over in the Charms section, the twins' heads banged together – hard.

"What'd you do that for!"

"Me! It was you!"

"Was not!"

Hermione whispered, "Time for you to begin exercising your special skills, Aculus."

No audible response was needed; she felt the breeze as the raven winged invisibly across to perch close by Fred and George. Hermione could not hear the bird's carefully-timed mimicking but she could tell from the expressions on the faces of the twins that they were becoming confused. _Confusion is good to begin with,_ thought the witch, _influence can come later._ But another little voice in her head – it was always in Harry's older voice – was gently chiding, _Hang on, isn't it too late to help Ron?_

.

Cruel To Be Kind

All September, Aculus roosted in or near The Burrow. At opportune moments, he whispered ghostly in the twins' ears, suggestions and reminders that Hermione had given him. Mostly the boys were separate when this happened, and the voice each heard was their own, but occasionally both would together hear a harshly-blended tone that chilled the nine-year-old boys with fear. Such was the enchanted warning of the harbinger of doom; the deathly words that only magical ravens may utter. At such times the twins would avert their gaze and fall into a subdued mood, unwilling to speak to each other; afraid to hear their own voices.

Never once did the raven allow anyone else to overhear, and the twins were too filled with the new insecurity imposed on them to confess to or discuss their experience with anyone but themselves – and that rarely. Occasionally they glanced at each other in a furtive way, but a growing shame became a wedge between them. The ethereal words, which appeared to originate almost within their own heads, scraped away the malicious humour that had previously sugar-coated their guilt – just as surgery might expose an awful and hitherto-unknown deformity.

 _Why so cruel to your own?_

 _There is blood you cannot see – yet it is on your hands._

 _How slowly you push him over the edge..._

 _Care now for your brother else weep o'er him later._

 _His corpse will call you from the river._

The last whisper sent the boys wailing through the house and nothing Mrs Weasley could do would persuade them to explain their distress.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _My strong support for Ron and my claim of his loyalty is, I confess, a reaction against the many bashing fics which, while fun (heh, heh,) deliberately make him evil so they have something to bash. My view is that, apart from minor squabbles that most of us have with childhood friends, there were only two significant situations for Ron to answer to. The effect of the cursed locket was entirely to blame for driving Ron away from the Horcrux hunt. The book makes it clear that within a minute or two of being clear of its influence he tried to return – but could not because of the enchantments hiding the tent area. The other occasion was when Harry told him he had not put his name in the Goblet of Fire. Again, the book explains how distraught Ron was because of years of being overshadowed by his older brothers and then by Harry and Hermione. Add to that the numerous times he stood by his friends and even risked his life. Given his background, Ron Weasley might be the best of them all. That said, I'm not a hardcore Ron fan, only a canon truth fan, and I like to see him as JKR wrote him._

 _It might seem I'm being hard on the 'lovable' Weasley twins but their relentless two-onto-one teasing and, yes, bullying, of Ron was, I feel, a major factor in weakening his self-confidence. Hopefully Fred and George will be a little more considerate and thoughtful in my story's future._

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

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	11. 0:Different Company

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 _So far... End of summer, 1987. The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and family (Sirius & Hestia) and is recruiting supporters to root out Ministry corruption. Using a Pensieve, she's shown Mike Worthing the nuclear fate of all mankind, and set her raven to dissuade Fred and George from bullying Ron. Read on... _

.

 **Chapter 11**

 **Different Company**

* * *

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An Invitation

"What have you to tell me?" asked Hermione when Aculus returned at the end of the month.

"The Weasley twins are deeply affected," said the raven. "Hopefully it will not last."

Hermione frowned up at the bird. Aculus always perched on a higher branch of the larch tree when he wished to show his disapproval of her orders. But she had no doubts herself. "You suppose wrongly if you imagine _they_ might end up in the river instead of Ron; they are tough!"

"You do not understand the power of raven-speak as I do! We drive evil men to remorse or death – but the twins are still young children!"

"All the more reason to believe that regret might improve their character rather than weaken it to suicide! You will return once a month to watch and _carefully_ remind them, Aculus. I will not let Ron be crushed again for their idle amusement! I will not! Report to me and we'll review the situation regularly."

"Let it so be." said the raven in Hermione's own voice as he flew off in a huff.

"Let it so be." murmured Hermione, cheerlessly.

Farrimond flew down with one of Harry's regular chatty messages; perhaps the owl had been circling discreetly above until Aculus departed. Hermione read it and her face softened into a smile – tinged with a little envy.

"Good news at last, Farrimond! Frank Longbottom has finally invited the Blacks for tea today. I'm positive that Harry and Neville will become good friends. There'll be more messages for you to deliver between us all!"

She read the letter once more and her expression became wistful. Farrimond sensed her mood and, with a fluttery hop, landed on Hermione's shoulder and began nuzzling her cheek inquisitively.

"Oh, Farri," giggled Hermione, as his feathers tickled her face. "Okay, I admit I'm just a little jealous. I've been so eager to see Neville alive once more, and now it might take a while longer."

The owl snatched the message from her fingers.

"Hey!" cried Hermione, but, with beak and claw, Farrimond was turning over the parchment.

"A postscript! I must teach Harry how to spell P.T.O.!"

She read the addition aloud:

" _P.S. I nearly forgot to tell you what time to get here! We're leaving at four o'clock but can you come earlier because I'm a bit nervous about making friends. What do I do?_ "

With a leap and a dance and a wave of the parchment, Hermione cried out, "I'm invited too, Farrimond! I'm invited too! I'm going to see Neville today!"

The excited girl ran off to the house leaving the startled owl to fly up into his tree. "MUM! Is my lilac frock clean! I've been invited to tea!"

As she prepared, Hermione tried to imagine Neville four years younger than he had been when they first met on the Hogwarts Express – but it was a struggle to put out of mind the older headless grey corpse laid out beside the bodies of Hannah and their child.

"Hermione?" Mrs Granger was at her daughter's bedroom door with fresh underwear and socks. "What's wrong?"

Hermione faked a laugh and wiped her eyes. "Oh, I'm just so happy to be going to the party and making new friends!"

She accepted the embrace of her mother – who had not been fooled by her pretence one bit – then quickly brought her emotions under control by vowing retribution on all the Carrows. But it would not be their heads she would remove.

.

Baking Power

"Memorise this, Hermione," said Hestia, "then do exactly as Sirius just did. Don't be afraid, this fire won't hurt you." Mrs Black held out a small piece of parchment on which was written an address.

"Longbottom residence," declared Hermione as she jumped melodramatically into the green flames. With long practice, she closed her mind to the unpleasant spinning then stepped briskly out as she came to a halt – feigning a stumble for effect.

"Alright, Hermione?" said Sirius. "Best stand aside then."

The girl heard the others, Hestia and Harry, whooshing out behind but her eyes were on the Longbottoms: smiling Frank and Alice she recognised from an old photograph, Augusta she had met many times in her old life, but Neville – he was shorter and more chubby than she had ever known him. Hermione had been hoping he might appear more self-confident than before but right now she could not read his expression. There was an air of firmness, true, but it was as if he was bracing himself rather than being relaxed about the occasion – and after one look at her, he quickly averted his gaze. Neville was sufficiently different that Hermione did not immediately embarrass herself with tears.

"We're so glad you came," Frank was saying to the newcomers. "It's been far too long since the old days... Children, let me introduce Alice and Neville, and my mother Madam Augusta Longbottom..."

"Neville, this is my wife, Hestia," began Sirius, then pointed at his adopted son. "Harry, of course, you will all recognise from newspaper articles – we try to stop them taking pictures as much as possible but inevitably some get snapped." He turned then, pausing only briefly. "And this is Harry's best friend, Hermione Granger."

"I'm very pleased to meet you all!" said Hermione brightly, hoping to make a good first impression. "Thank you Madam Longbottom for allowing me into your home." She grasped the hem of her frock and made a little curtsy to Neville's gran.

"Well, you are a well-mannered young lady, I must say – but how did you know Longbottom Manor is mine?"

Hermione froze only for a moment. She could not admit to having visited Neville and Hannah there many times before. "Oh, I... I've b-been _thstudying_ magical _custhtomsth, familiesth,_ and..."

"You're Muggle-born?" Madam Longbottom's eyebrows rose. "That explains your curious uuh... curiously-charming attire."

Hestia slipped a protective arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Hermione is a real bookworm, aren't you dear?" But she mouthed at the Longbottoms, " _but prone to nervousness._ "

Alice rescued the mood. "Frank and I had a flat until recently but – well, you tell them, Frank." She nudged him lightly.

"Yes, strangest thing. We were on a case – you know we're Aurors, don't you? – and a peculiar stranger warned us of a trap – saved us from serious trouble, I can tell you! – and he cautioned that we Longbottoms might be at risk." Frank guided them into the parlour where they seated themselves on old leather furniture before he continued, "So, we decided to all move in together and use a protective charm as you do, Sirius. Incidentally, this is why you're really here."

"Why's that, Frank?" said Sirius. He accepted a glass of wine that a house-elf was offering on a tray.

"The same man – Adam Brown was his name – suggested that being too cloistered and isolated from other children would not benefit Neville's upbringing." Here he grinned in Neville's direction who winced and kept his gaze on the carpet. "Brown recommended Harry as an ideal prospect for company."

Seeing her son's discomfort, Alice spoke up. "Neville, why don't you show Harry the garden while it's dry? Hermione, would you like to help me in the kitchen for a few minutes? See how witches make cakes?"

Hermione stiffened for a moment as she watched Neville trudge off with Harry; she certainly did not want to be working on girly kitchen chores; she wanted to make friends with Neville. Then she realised what Mrs Longbottom was doing. "Oh, thank you, yes, I'd love to."

Seating her at a little table in front of a back window, Alice laid a small parchment in front of the young girl. "Here's the recipe, Hermione. Hestia told us you'd learnt to cast the summoning charm with only a toy wand. If you'd like to fetch these ingredients and a mixing bowl, I'll show you some variations of that charm you can use to measure and stir them together."

Hermione bristled at her trainer wand being called a 'toy' but she said nothing. Soon, sugar, milk, and flour were being tentatively drawn through the air with only one broken egg to make her performance convincingly amateurish. Shrieks of laughter from outside caused her to unintentionally splodge butter on the tabletop too. She stretched up on tiptoes and looked out the window. Harry and Neville were playing with what appeared to be a slippery eel down by the pond, and it was wriggling out of their hands. The sky was dull but the boys were lit up with excitement.

"They're getting along fine now," said Mrs Longbottom. "The only acquaintances Neville has had are a couple of distant cousins. though he was able to see them much less often than we would have liked – oh, and the Greengrasses, of course, but–"

"You know the–!" Hermione stopped herself by pausing to wipe up the butter spot with a charmed face wipe from her bag. "You know, that's a shame he's met only those few children. Who did you say they were?" she added innocently.

"Daphne and Astoria Greengrass – Frank knew their father. For most of a year he encouraged family visits with the purpose of strengthening future relationships. We believe he saw Neville as a suitable prospect for one of his daughters, but Daphne in particular teased Neville mercilessly, embarrassing him in front of Astoria. We didn't realise how painful this humiliation was until several months had passed. Thereafter we began excusing ourselves from the invitations, but the damage was done."

Hermione frowned. _So that's why he's rather awkward with me – it's girls!_

Alice read her expression and quickly added, "Neville is not at all standoffish when you get to know him." She looked at Hermione meaningfully. "He's just a little nervous with pretty girls because he's rarely even been in the same room with one since then, until today of course."

Hermione giggled and let her bushy tresses hide her face by leaning to watch the wooden spoon that was vigorously stirring the mix. "You're very kind to pretend I'm pretty, Mrs Longbottom, and thank you for being so understanding as to keep me apart from the boys – I'd only have inhibited their getting to know one another."

A gasp made her look up. Mrs Longbottom's eyes were wide, and they were on Hermione.

"You're quite grown up for your age aren't you?" Mrs Longbottom smiled uncertainly. "Are your parents royalty? Or diplomats!"

"Dentists!" laughed Hermione. "They fix people's teeth – though I suppose they do need to be rather diplomatic when using the drill."

Mrs Longbottom's mouth fell open but she daren't ask how a drill could possibly be used to heal teeth.

At that moment, the spoon finally came to rest and Alice declared the mixture thoroughly beaten into submission. After demonstrating how to summon portions onto a baking tray she instantly cooked and cooled them with a wave or two of her wand. A warm aroma filled the kitchen. Another few swishes and she had coated some with chocolate topping, some with icing, while others had a variety of shredded nuts, coconut, and a glittery, gooey fudge.

"Here, take the boys two or three each. Let slip that I showed _you_ how to make them and let them draw their own conclusions. Neville loves the chocolate ones; perhaps he'll forget his shyness long enough to start talking to you."

Hermione beamed. "Thank you Mrs Longbottom! You're very smart."

With a wry smile on her face, Alice murmured to herself as she watched the young girl skipping down the garden. "Me? _I'm_ smart?"

.

A Brilliant Idea

Neville's eyes lit up when he smelt the plate of cakes arriving and he did overlook for the moment who was carrying them. Hermione watched as he wiped eel slime onto his trouser hip then reached for one of the cakes she was offering to the two eager lads.

 _Boys!_ she thought, cringing inwardly while keeping a friendly smile on her face.

"Your mum's brilliant!" she said. "Taught me how to make them."

"Brilliant!" repeated Harry, who seemed to be picking up on some of Hermione's catchphrases which she was also feeding him.

Happily they sat together and watched the eel slither back into the pool. The surface barely rippled its silvery sheen under the overcast sky. "They're like snakes," said Hermione. "I hope I'm not in Slytherin when we go to Hogwarts together."

There was a thoughtful pause before Neville swallowed the last of his cake. "Together? Are we all the same age then? Anyway, I can't–"

"Yes," said Hermione, "you and Harry–" She stopped herself mentioning actual birth dates just in time. "That is, you and Harry look about the same age, and I'm only a few months older."

Neville studied her face. It was the first time they had made eye contact. When he became aware of what he was doing he looked away quickly with pink-tinged cheeks.

 _That is so wrong with him!_ thought Hermione. _He was never this nervous with me before._ "Another cake, Neville?"

"Thanks." He took one but only glanced briefly at her expression to see if she was laughing at him.

In an attempt to keep the conversation going, Hermione said, "Must be great having magical parents who can show you useful skills like magical baking – I'm Muggle-born."

"You should be proud of them then!" Neville flared at her. "Mum told me that Muggles are just as good as–"

"I am! I am proud of them!" cried Hermione. "I wouldn't change them for the world! I only meant it's handy having parents who are very knowledgeable about magic."

"Oh... right..."

Harry said, "Hermione and I have started to learn magic and been practising spells. Do you have a tutor, Neville?"

Neville shook his head. "Can't. I'm a... Dad says I'm a..."

"What?" said Harry and Hermione together.

"Nothing." Neville had finished his cake. There was no request for another. Instead, he snatched up a pebble from the grassy edge and threw it down into the pond with a loud plunk. He seemed much smaller outlined by the shimmering agitation of the water. _I'm nothing._

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other; he always looked to her first for answers when something puzzled him.

"I think I know," said Hermione, softly. She recalled how Neville didn't display any accidental magic until he was older. Without parents, his other relatives had cruelly tried to induce some show of magic from Neville. Now, in this new lifetime, his mother and father had survived, so almost certainly they would have prevented such force, but instead, had the entire family quietly accepted he was a squib?

"Neville, I have a confession to make," she began. A tiny stiffening of his body indicated he was listening. "I see things." Hermione sighed as if she were burdened with a fault, hoping he did not assume she was bragging. "Only Harry really knows about it. I have to keep it a big secret; only the closest of friends can know."

Neville's head half-turned involuntarily. "What things? Bad things?"

"Some bad, some good." She braced herself; timing was important. "I know I can trust you, but Harry and I, we want you to be our friend first."

She was nodding at Harry and he nodded back. Neville twisted fully around to face them. "You want me to be your friend?"

"Yes, no matter what," said Harry, "but you can never share the secret with anyone else."

Neville said earnestly, "I swear not to give away your secret."

Hermione pressed her lips together while she thought how to say what she had to tell him. Finally, she spoke. "You are to become a great wizard, Neville, brave, and powerful, and highly respected – I've seen it. I'm honoured to be with you." She knew she was laying it on extra thick, but it was the truth so her sincerity was conveyed by the emotion in her voice. In her mind she saw the scarred and injured resistance fighter standing up to the most powerful dark wizard of the century. She struggled to continue...

"This isn't my wand." She drew it out and held it up. "It's yours. A gift I hope you'll accept."

Neville blinked, not comprehending anything of what she was saying. He looked at Harry for some indication when this practical joke was to end – but Harry was nodding seriously.

"I don't understand what you mean," Neville said firmly. "This won't work because–"

"Take it. It's a trainer wand so it will work for you, but we're only allowed a few spells until we're eleven. I'll teach you one and then you'll believe me."

She leaned forward and held out the wand; it was difficult for Neville to refuse it without appearing rude, but he clasped it as gingerly as he had held the wriggling eel – like it might bite him.

"Hermione..." said Harry.

"No, grip it like this," persisted Hermione, drawing out her own wand, and ignoring Harry's interruption. "You show him too, Harry."

Neville gulped. Holding the wand was possibly the most curious sensation of his entire life, on a day which had been possibly the most unusual he had ever known: visitors, new friends, pretty girls, high praise, and now... magic? Surely not. He must be dreaming.

Hermione knew she had to act quickly before Neville realised what he was doing and remembered what he had been told to believe all his life. "Try this movement; it's quite easy."

Neville watched her draw an imaginary circle in the air then copied her motion. She ignored his disappointed expression. "Again ... again ... again."

"Hermione..." said Harry again, looking over her shoulder anxiously.

But Hermione pressed on. Only when she was sure Neville had the correct movement did she give him the spell. "Now say, 'Lumos' quite firmly while you make that motion. No need to shout it, but you do need to speak with authority – the same certainty you showed me when you said it wouldn't work. You can do that because you already have the attitude."

A light breeze was ruffling the surface of the pool as they sat beside it. Anticipation hung tangibly in the air. Neville was staring at this strange girl, trying to absorb the enormity of what he was about to attempt. He braced himself...

"Hermione..." said Harry, for a third time, then he rocked forward in a crouch and whispered in her ear. " _His mum's watching out the window, and... it's starting to rain._ "

"LUMOS!" declared Neville, rather fiercely.

Abruptly, the dull, sunless garden blazed with light and colour. Neville's face became radiant with astonishment and unspeakable joy, his own wand dazzling his wide shining eyes. Around him, a faint rainbow shimmered like a halo amongst the falling droplets.

"LUMOS! LUMOS! LUMOS!" cried Neville, leaping to his feet and dancing himself and his wand around in excitement. Tenuous auras of radiance were left chasing after his triumphant rush. Harry clapped with glee. Hermione joined in the applause and beamed at Neville.

BUMP!

Neville's jubilant rain dance came to an abrupt end as he collided with his dumbstruck father. By his side, Alice was staring wide-eyed, oblivious of the increasing rainfall. And in the kitchen doorway, out of the weather, stood Madam Longbottom, Neville's grandmother.

The drifting lights faded...

Mr Longbottom grabbed his son's arms to prevent him falling over. "Neville... we'd almost given up hope that you..." Lost for words again, he looked pleadingly at his wife.

"We're proud of you, Neville," said Alice with a tender smile and a hug to follow. "We're very proud."

"My boy's a WIZARD!" Frank shouted with a cocky grin on his face, half to the cloud-wracked sky and half back at the house. "A WIZARD!"

"Humph!" said Neville's gran from the doorway, "Of course he is – he's a Longbottom!"

.

Nightmare Accusation

October began as moodily, with grey weather and unpromising skies. In the small hours of the tenth day of that month, within another large house far from Longbottom Mansion, a high-ranking Ministry official was about to have his life changed forever.

In a thick, unconscious sweat, Bartemius Crouch senior stirred fitfully in his sleep, moved by a strange waking dream. His heartbeat was racing out of control and rapid panting did not ease his aching lungs.

" _You failed everyone, Barty. You failed me._ "

"Martha?" he gasped faintly, from within his slumbers.

" _Did you not promise to lead all into the light?_ "

"Young B-Barty's hateful atrocity d-destroyed that hope..." choked the wizard, half in and out of wakefulness.

" _Our son was to be free, not enslaved by your curse! Did I die in Azkaban for naught?_ "

"Aaaaaah!" The man struggled out of his nightmare, fighting for breath.

" _Keep watch tonight,_ " said the voice as it faded. " _Wait for Adam..._ "

Lacking the immediate leverage to sit up, Crouch rolled over onto one side and wedged down an elbow so he could raise his head. "Wh-Who's there!" he gasped.

There was no reply save for a rhythmic draught of air that faintly cooled and fluttered his wet hairline like a spectral caress.

The man tumbled out of bed, hands down on the thick blue rug beside his bed, his chest heaving. With an upward stumble, he headed for the door. "Winky! Winky!"

As he escaped his room there was a soft pop on the landing. A little house-elf, a female, had appeared there.

"Master! Is Master unwell?" bleated the elf, her large round eyes gummed up and bleary.

"My son...?"

"Is sleeps, sir."

"And... the portrait down there? The one that keeps him company while in the basement?"

The elf's eyes fluttered for a few moments in temporary confusion. "His mother's painting is sleeps too, Master."

The wizard hesitated for long seconds, listening to the distant ghostly echoes that large half-empty houses convey at night, then he said, "Very well, that will be all."

"Might Winky brings sir a soothy potion? A hot chocolate drink for Master to drifts off again?"

"No, no, I merely suffered a panic attack induced by a nightmare. It was nothing. Anyway, I wish to remain alert... keep watch for a while."

Bemused, the elf remained at the top of the stairway for another minute, staring at the lampglow under her master's bedroom door after it had closed. Then, with the softest of pops, she was back down in the cellar.

.

The Girl in the Garden

The House of Crouch was a long sprawling cottage on the north edge of London, smothered now with ivy and a flush of late-flowering abelia in a variety of pinks and purples. On every side, other eager garden plants swaddled the walls under magical drifts of blue and saffron.

But the colours were suffused by the limits of dawn's tepid radiance, and anyway, the girl who was frowning at the slight movement of the weather vane atop the tallest chimney had no time to admire the beauty of the setting.

" _Aculus!_ " she called very softly.

There was a swoop of air that alighted on her shoulder. She nodded. "How did he react? Does he remain vigilant?"

"He is... receptive, I would say," replied the raven. "I spent time in the basement yesterday learning to mimic the tone and idiom of the painting of his late wife – I'm sure he was completely convinced, though confused and highly anxious, of course."

"Good. He will not dismiss me lightly then."

There was a stirring from the nearby hen coop as daylight approached. The girl took a vial from her robes and drank deeply. "I'd better hurry."

.

Seeing Is Believing

Despite his intentions, Crouch's head drooped. He'd suffered a busy week at the Ministry, put in extra time on the long Saturday, and had hoped to catch up on his sleep so as to enjoy Sunday. Though demoted a few years previously, he still had heavy responsibilities – yet all without the rewards he had yearned for in his youth. He was still young, he told himself – not quite yet out of his forties – perhaps there might still be time to... he sighed. Who was he fooling?

"Regrets, Barty?"

Crouch jerked upright in his chair, a wand already in his grasp. Before him was a shadowy vapour in the form of a large man.

"How did you come here! What do you want! Who are you!"

"I am the one called Adam Brown," came the reply in a deep, strong voice, "and I know who you have kept hidden here all these years."

Utterly shocked, Crouch was on his feet. "You cannot know this! Impossible!"

"He would face the Dementor's kiss if discovered, and as for you–"

"So, it's blackmail, then?" The contempt in his voice was mixed with despair.

"On the contrary, I wish to provide more freedom for you and your son so you can serve your people as you've always wished."

Even in the gloom, Adam could see the silhouetted man's eyes blinking in disbelief.

The vaporous intruder continued quickly, before Crouch could gather his wits to respond. "You have enslaved your own son with a curse and burdened yourself with worry. I propose he be moved to somewhere with more space yet more security and without the need for the Imperious Curse. In return, and with my help, you must promote your original dream of guiding the Ministry out of its darkness."

"Both impossible! My credibility is beyond saving and no prison but Azkaban can hold a wizard. Without the mental control of Dementors or repeated dark curses, almost any magical person might set his mind to escape from the deepest of physical dungeons, even without a wand – and my son is not just any wizard."

"True, but I hope to change all of that."

"You? And what are you? What's in it for you? Do you aspire to become the next Minister for Magic?" Crouch's gruff laughter evolved into a coughing fit, and he reached for the glass of water on the table beside him.

Adam waited while he drank a few mouthfuls then said, "No, Bartemius, that will be _your_ post."

With a choke and a splutter, Crouch steadied his glass back down onto its lacy coaster. He was unable to see any further humour in the situation. "Me? As Minister? That can never be. You are deluded. You fantasise about a miracle – why?" His brow creased with a deep furrow of puzzlement. "I suppose you imagine yourself as the power behind the throne?"

"I repeat, I have no interest in blackmailing you. Indeed, there will be no remaining evidence with which to coerce you. You will be completely liberated from worrying about your son and free to pursue your own goals and to apply your own values and beliefs. I shall have no control over you, indeed, I shall make myself available should you wish to consult or use _me_."

There was a pause. Far off down the garden, a cockerel began crowing.

"You speak of helping me. How? And why would you do this, Brown?" Crouch said eventually.

"Because after much suffering, I have come round to your way of thinking, Barty. In many ways, your values now approximate my own. These are troubled times – far worse than you know – and often one needs to be ruthless to combat evil."

Sensing Crouch's growing interest, Adam released his immateriality charm and came closer. "The entire project will take many years – decades even. You will not be alone in this endeavour. I have recruited two powerful supporters. One will assist with the gradual changes needed in the Wizengamot – I shall play my part there too; the other is a wealthy businessman who will add to our funding – as will I. Both will also have a major role in securing Muggle cooperation."

"Muggles!" Crouch broke into another coughing fit and reached once more for his glass. "Have you taken leave of all your senses! What have they to do with us?"

"I have foreseen a terrible catastrophe. Without Magical and Muggle cooperation..." Adam's voice tailed away to inaudibility.

"Yes? What of it?" prompted Crouch with an impatient growl.

"All of us shall die."

"Preposterous! Are you claiming now to be a seer? What proof is there of this nonsense? How do I know you have foreseen anything?"

"Beware the ides of this month, Barty! Best shield your weather vane and your chicken coop. Your beautiful garden too will not survive unless you protect it." Adam began to fade and dematerialise.

"What is this nonsense!"

"There'll be high winds that night, Barty. You'd better prepare yourself."

Adam swept forward at high speed – right through the astonished Crouch who dropped his glass of water in alarm. When Crouch turned around... he was alone.

.

A Friendly Warning

"Always with the drama," smirked Aculus, who had perched on the garden gate awaiting Hermione's return.

"There's no time to build up a gradual acquaintance, that could take a long, long time before I became accepted – if ever. Political networking has to be built up over the coming years, contacts must be made, a team of dedicated activists need to be ready to replace some of the dubious characters who now sway the Council."

"Replace? Are you expecting early retirements?"

"Well, as early as possible," murmured Hermione.

"And your storm? How will you summon winds strong enough to damage his home and garden?"

Hermione stared at the raven's dark shape against the eastern light of the coming day. "Only _his_ home and garden, you think, do you, Aculus? You'd best not roost in the larch tree on the fifteenth – and warn Farrimond too."

A gimlet eye blinked and glittered within the black silhouette.

"Mistress, your home is on the other side of London from here! No wizard can or should control the weather, let alone on such a scale!"

"And Crouch knows it."

Irritated at his own assumption, Aculus clicked his beak rapidly against the fence post. "So you have truly foreseen it then? Of course you have. I will caution Farrimond. We can roost in the garden shed."

"Uumm... that might not be enough to avoid a good shaking. I suggest you both come indoors on _that_ particular night, my friend."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

.


	12. 0:The Worst Sin

.

 _So far... October, 1987. The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and family (Sirius & Hestia,) helped Neville display his first magic, and is recruiting supporters to root out Ministry corruption. Read on... _

.

 **Chapter 12**

 **The Worst Sin**

* * *

.

Green-eyed Growing Pains

Two weeks passed during which Neville visited the Blacks twice and Hermione taught him more spells to practise with his new wand. His confidence seemed to thrive with the magic though he was still rather coy in Hermione's presence, and, in addition, he was sometimes sullen and resentful of the extra attention she gave Harry.

"Why can't I do _Flipendo_ too?" said Neville, staring at his own shoes.

"Because Harry's had more practice than you." Hermione frowned. "Look, it's not a serious attacking spell, just a push really. Harry's using it from the back to imagine pushing away any threat from the side – it could just as easily be red sparks. Look, none of these simple trainer spells are real attacking or defensive spells, we're just using them as an introduction to strategies we'll use later in duels and so on."

"So then why can't he push from the front and I'll act as guard from the rear for a change? Then you'll see how good I can do it as well."

Hermione firmed her lips for a while, then relented. "Okay, no problem. We can do it that way instead."

 _Is he jealous of Harry? Is he trying to impress me?_ Hermione wondered. All Neville needed, she wrote in her action log, was to get used to the company of more girls. Perhaps in the new year she might find a way to bring Hannah and Ginny into their growing circle of friendship – the boy had lacked company of his own age for too long.

Hermione sighed. Magical society was spread too far and too thin, with very few communities where young witches and wizards could make natural friends. Ironically, Pure-blood supremacists were much to blame for the dwindling population by attacking, isolating, or driving away Muggle-borns and Squibs whose descendants might otherwise replenish the losses. Hopefully, that trend might be reversed if dark witchery could be reduced. Meanwhile, she considered, a little encouragement is never wasted...

"Well done, Neville! You're getting better every week."

Neville's face glowed with pleasure. "So... can I come to the front again with you?"

.

Other Lives... Other Deaths

On the fifteenth of the month, Hermione let Farrimond and Aculus into the most protected place in the house – the spare bedroom she had made her headquarters. When she rejoined her parents downstairs in the lounge, they were watching the evening's weather forecast on television.

"There's nothing on the TV about a hurricane tonight," said Mrs Granger, as she turned down the volume on the remote. "Are you quite sure about this, Hermione?"

"Yes, there'll be destruction over a wide area. Southeast England will get the worst of it. Don't worry, I've enchanted the roof and the TV aerial to protect them, but if you get scared in the night, you can both come in my bed."

"Cheeky!" grinned Mr Granger. "Still, it's handy having a witch as a daughter."

 _Don't worry,_ thought Hermione, grimly, _I won't be there._

Mrs Granger must have detected the flicker of anxiety that had crossed her daughter's face. "Hermione? Is something bad going to happen?"

Hermione shook her head. "A lot of people will be hurt and–"

"Hermione! You can't save everyone! Promise me you won't do anything foolish!" cried her mother.

The young girl kicked her heels and stared at the floor.

Mr Granger rose to his feet. "We're serious, Hermione. If there are really going to be gales over a hundred miles an hour then it will be extremely dangerous on the streets. Nature is not something to be taken lightly." He frowned, waiting for her to respond.

"Doctor Saunders is going to die."

There was a frozen silence.

"Saunders? _Our_ Doctor Saunders?" said her father. "The one who sent you to the loony bin?"

Anne sighed. "He wasn't to know what would happen, was he? And it was a mental health care centre, Edward."

He pulled a face. "That's what I said – a loony bin. Saunders should have warned us what might happen."

"But he doesn't deserve to die!"

Hermione said, "No, but life isn't fair. He'll be killed when he returns from visiting Mr Ross. His car will be scooped over by a sudden ninety-mile an hour crosswind as he turns into Hazel Green Road – you know, where the road is quite steep? He won't be wearing a seat belt so he'll break his neck."

"What! But he's a doctor! He should know better!" Mrs Granger stared at Hermione and clicked off the television.

"I know – though with local night calls he doesn't have far to go and there's usually nobody about. It's a bad habit he's got into. He just wants to get home and fall into bed. He hardly – Dad, what are you doing!"

Mr Granger was hurrying out into the hallway.

"You can't ring him!" cried Hermione, running after him with her mother immediately behind. "Dad! He'll think you're crazy! What will you tell him?"

Her father hesitated, phone in hand. "At least I can tell him to buckle up!"

"What good would that do! His car rolled and flew all the way down Hazel Green and smashed into the post office wall!"

Mrs Granger seized her daughter by the shoulder. "What do you mean, 'it rolled' – it's already happened?"

Hermione winced at the slip up she had made. " _Will_ tumble down there, I meant. In my vision I see it as already happened."

"I'll call the police," said Mr Granger.

"YOU MUSTN'T!" cried Hermione. "Don't you think I've already thought this over for weeks? You can't inform the police that Doctor Saunders is going to have an accident before it happens, can you! And you shouldn't tell them he's been seen driving at night without a seat belt either – they'll ask when and why and so on. And what about poor old Mr Ross if he can't get Doctor Saunders quickly? You know he has a problem with his heart. The whole situation could get messy very quickly and still you might not save Saunders."

"Then Ross will have to call an ambulance!"

"THERE WON'T BE ANY AMBULANCES!" shouted Hermione. "Don't you understand yet? Most vehicles will be grounded during the worst of the storm! There'll be winds peaking at one-twenty to one-thirty miles an hour in some areas!"

Very slowly, Mr Granger lowered the phone back onto its cradle.

Hermione continued, "That's why Mr Ross was calling Doctor Saunders – he's only a few streets away from him."

"What then?" croaked Mr Granger. "What can I do?"

"The doctor must first treat Mr Ross. Then I'm going to cast a magical protective shield on Upper Hazel Green, just above where he turns down on his way back home."

"YOU are not going out there and that's final!" snapped Mr Granger. "You can't go riding your bike in a hurricane in the middle of the night – I'll go!"

"NO! NO! NO! You might die! Tell him Mum! Don't let him go, Mum!"

"Edward! You can't!"

"Dad! If you go, I'm going too – you won't be able to stop me!"

She flew at her father and passed right through both him and the hall table, phone and all. He stumbled away in shock as she rematerialised.

Mrs Granger shrieked in horror. "Don't do things like that, Hermione! Have you any idea how frightening it is to us!"

"Sorry, but..."

Mr Granger ran his hands through his hair and strode back into the lounge, deep in thought. Finally, he said, "Very well, you'll come with me in the car. You won't do anything rash. You won't do anything without consulting me first, understand?"

"Dad, then I'll have you to worry about you as well as Doctor Saunders. I'm safer on my own."

"Listen, young lady, read my lips! You. Are. Not. Going. Out. There. Alone! Get it?"

Hermione sighed and considered her options.

"Well?" said her father, folding his arms.

"I'm thinking about it." She gnawed her knuckles and stared at the carpet.

Mr Granger groaned. "What's to think about? You're not going alone, I said!" Wild thoughts ran through his head of stopping her pocket money or giving her extra chores. Any discipline seemed petty compared to the life she was trying to save. "You're just not," he added limply.

But Hermione wasn't listening and began musing aloud. "You know, it may be better if I do take the car. I might have to wait thirty or forty minutes and I can't sustain immateriality and invisibility that long. I can't put up an invisible shield until the last minute or anyone watching from a window might see debris collide with it – or worse, another vehicle might crash into it. In the car I can charm a shield against it for much longer."

She looked up then. "Can I borrow your keys, Dad?"

He blinked as he felt his keyring trying to tug out of his back pocket. Before he could grab it, the keys had flown threw the air and into Hermione's hand.

"You can drive? When? When could you have learnt – you're eight years old!" He turned to his wife. "Anne? What's going on?"

But Anne was staring at her daughter. "They're not just visions you have, are they, Hermione? You've lived them before."

"I'm not letting Doctor Saunders die, and that's flat!" said Hermione, pocketing her dad's keys.

"Answer me!" cried her mother.

Hermione hesitated. "Yes... sort of."

"I knew it! I knew there was more to it! You sounding so grown up!" She looked back and forth between Hermione and her husband. "Has Harry lived before as well?"

"Mum, everyone has! YOU have!" Hermione gasped at her own outburst and clamped a hand over her mouth.

Mrs Granger became absolutely still. She bit on a knuckle and began trembling as the truth of her daughter's statement sank in. Edward sank down onto the sofa with a look of dreadful shock on his face. Nobody spoke for a while.

Finally, Mr Granger said, "What... what happened to... us?"

"You don't want to know."

"Yes we DO want to know!" flared Mrs Granger. "No more secrets, Hermione!"

"It was an insufficiency of secrecy that got you..."

"What?"

Hermione let out a long breath then guided her mother to sit down on the sofa next to her father. "I concealed your memories, gave you new identities, made you forget all about me so–"

"NO!" cried Mrs Granger. Edward put his arm around her shoulder.

"I magically convinced you that you wanted to move to Australia and start a new life. Even I didn't know exactly where you'd go."

"Why, Hermione? Why?" said her mother.

"Because I had to help Harry destroy Voldemort – the dark wizard I told you about? He would have... no, he _did_ send someone here – one of his... Death Eaters they call them."

"Here? What do you mean, 'here'? To Elmbridge? This house? He sent one of his own – ?" said Mr Granger.

" _Death Eaters_ , yes," said Hermione.

"–to our home? Why?"

"To find out if you knew where I was. You were already gone though."

"Rrr...right. So..." He fidgeted on his seat. "So, you mean... later, when Vvv...Voldemort was dead, we met up again?"

Hermione shook her head. She pulled up a pouffe and sat down before them as close as she could. There were tears in her eyes. "After the war I tracked you down to King Island – that's part of Tasmania but... but I was too late. The enemy had found you first, you see. I can only suppose that before you left England you mentioned where you were going to Mrs Arkwright because she was found murdered too."

"Murdered? So... _we_ were killed as well?" said Mrs Granger softly.

Hermione began crying as she recollected the awful scene where she had found their bodies. "T-Tortured ... m-mutilated, but you couldn't tell the Death Eater what she wanted to know – where Harry and I had gone. Then... th-then she killed you out of spite to get back at me." She shook with the heaviness of her sobbing. "I'm s-sorry, Mum. I'm sorry, Dad – I couldn't s-save you. I couldn't save you."

Mrs Granger jumped to her feet to cuddle Hermione. Mr Granger put his arms around them both.

"But it's not going to happen again, I promise you that," Hermione said fiercely, as she used hate to overcome her emotion. "I know who did it. She'll pay big time."

"Oh, Hermione..." her mother cooed softly, rocking her back and forth in her arms. Unwilling to either encourage or discourage her daughter, she knew no other way to respond.

"But payback must wait a few years. Tonight, we have a life we _can_ save."

She gave her dad his keys back and they all sat down to wait through the night...

.

A Father's Heroism

The three of them sat worriedly talking and drinking cups of tea as the late evening yielded to a night of growing winds, and in turn those winds gave way to gales, and finally, the strongest of the gales were overcome by the terrifying fury of the real storm front bringing rain that seethed and hissed against the windows. The hurricane blustered and shrieked and howled about as if seeking entry through the house defences. Clatters and bumps, crashes and bangs were heard near and far but none of the Grangers fancied drawing a curtain to peer out through that oh-so-thin sheet of glass window. In the early hours, as the wailing, thunderous commotion reached a new high, they had to raise their voices to be heard.

"Hermione, tell – again – time – Saunders set out?" shouted Mr Granger.

Hermione mouthed and yelled back, "As far – remember – news – paper – time of death – three-fifteen – ish."

Grimacing, Mr Granger pointed at his watch and shouted inaudibly.

Hermione nodded and put her fingers to her throat to amplify her voice. "We'd better leave in the next twenty minutes!" She wasn't looking forward to it.

But Mr Granger got up immediately to check and prepare the car. The others followed him through the side door into the garage. He threw a large flashlight onto the back seat then briefly pondered a coil of towing rope hanging on the wall before moving his toolbox from the boot to the backseat of the car. By the time he'd secured every loose item in the garage he could think of, they were almost ready to go.

As she went back inside the house through the connecting door, Anne Granger tearfully shouted at them both to be careful then Hermione and her father resigned themselves to waiting the last few minutes in the car.

Side by side, the two of them watched the flickering street illumination lighting the rainwater as it sprayed and pooled under the juddering, banging garage door; it was their only clue as to the monster they might face outside. The noise in the confines of the garage was overwhelming. Barely one minute had passed when they both looked at one another, nodded, and braced themselves. Hermione cast an unlocking spell on the garage outer door and as it banged upward the car shook violently with the impact of the ferocious pressure wind-tunnelling around the small space. A heavy metal shelf unit was tilting and screeling across the concrete floor precariously over them...

"GO! GO! GO!" screamed Hermione, using her magic both to give extra acceleration to the car and to slam down the garage door behind them the moment they were free.

The truth was the vehicle had been practically sucked out onto the road almost before the brakes were released. After turning into the road, a powerful tail wind meant Mr Granger had to fight to slow the car down to a manageable speed. He aimed the car rather than steered, while praying he would not meet any oncoming traffic that was swerving and swinging as he was.

Shamefacedly, Hermione only then realised that during the last few hours of waiting, she had not prepared herself with a spell to stabilise and protect the car in motion. She cast a charm to fend off flying branches and tiles, but the buffeting of the storm was not so easily blocked while moving. Only when they had struggled down Upper Hazel Green from the top end, and were approaching the crossroad, did she heave a sigh of relief and take out her rarely used wand, knuckles white as she gripped it fearfully.

As arranged beforehand, Mr Granger stopped the car in the centre of the road, effectively blocking all possible traffic from passing them easily on the narrow road. For a few moments the car slid, inching down the wet road surface despite the handbrake. Leaning back over her seat, Hermione cast a blocking charm as wide as the street and as high as the roof gutters. Instantly the car sagged back on its suspension as the load eased, and the screaming din of the wind was reduced to a low-pitched, disappointed-banshee drone. A chimney pot came crashing down beside them, no doubt pulled away by the sudden, upwardly-diverted slipstream that Hermione had created. They both jerked against their seatbelts, startled by the closeness of the exploding rubble. An upper light went on in the chimneyless house at almost the moment the street lights failed and blackness shrouded everything.

Mr Granger raised his dipped headlights, peering through the sheeting rain that lashed and rivered away before him. He felt his daughter's hand gripping his arm.

"Daddy, I'm _thscared_..." wailed Hermione.

Mr Granger stared in horror at his daughter's face. She was just an eight-year-old kid again, frightened by a nasty storm.

Aghast, and knowing their safety depended on her magic, he shouted. "Hermione! Think ... Harry! HARRY ... POTTER, remember? ... You're ... WITCH. You've ... uuh ... you ... cast MAGIC ... spells ... yes?"

But the girl was reaching out for her father, and he felt compelled to pull her onto his lap and hold her close. He could feel her whining in fear against him as her enchanted shield began to fade...

The engine was still running. Should he put it in reverse to prevent the forward slippage he knew was inevitable?

That was when the headlights from the side street on his right caught his eye. There could only be one other person foolish enough to be out in this weather.

As the magic failed, the wind squalled more heavily, and he made a split-second decision: he let the car slide into the path of the oncoming car to block it, but the other vehicle was already beginning its turn. This, he knew, was the exact moment its driver would have been gusted to his death – perhaps Mr Granger and his daughter would be carried with him this time around. But within a combined squeal of brakes and tyre spray, Edward saw the doctor's car veer more tightly away and come to a halt with only a small angle to the wind. The Grangers' car lights shone through to the furious face of the doctor on the other side; he was making angry gestures at being cut off and at being blinded by the Grangers' headlights. At least he appeared unharmed so far.

Mr Granger knew his own car was being inched forward in tiny bursts as the full force of the hurricane pounded and howled at the back of his car. The vehicle heaved and swayed but remained aligned with the storm's direction. Not so, Saunder's car. Despite being partly shielded by the Granger vehicle, it was slowly being rotated broadside on...

As rapidly as it had squalled, the storm eased slightly and turned. It was just enough; Saunders, apparently unaware of the extreme danger he had been in, shouted one last curse, squeezed past on the pavement, then made his escape down the hill.

Edward watched him safely turn by the post office at the bottom and muttered to himself, "You ungrateful b–!" Then, remembering his terrified daughter was clinging to him like a baby monkey, he eased the car right and made slowly and cautiously for home.

After he had put Hermione to bed, Edward Granger sat beside her for a long time, listening to the storm slowly drop away and feeling thankful for having such an amazing daughter. It had been quite a night.

.

Forlorn Flora

The girl named Hermione Granger crossed fingers as she quaffed her Adam Brown Polyjuice and gazed up at Crouch's bedroom window. The fate of the world depended on the man's response to her offer. He was the critical piece in a deathly jigsaw puzzle she was putting together. If he refused, then a sea of dread chaos would flood the Earth, and mankind was lost.

The dead chick at her feet and the bent weather vane gave her no cause for hope. The garden had suffered from the hurricane during the night before. The hen coop was smashed and the confused birds were pecking at a couple of worms exposed by an uprooted fence. The plants were in disarray, many permanently spoilt, and though it was all fixable in time, clearly the man had not taken her storm prophecy seriously enough.

Concealed behind the disguise, she relaxed a little. If her alter ego had queered his own pitch then it was _Adam's_ fault, and not hers, she told herself. But deeper down, Hermione knew she herself was the impostor through and through: secrets and lies, conflicting principles, abuse of power – these were to be her daily path. Her sigh was now that of a tall, barrel-chested man but the weight of the world was borne by the heart of a little girl. Was she up to it? The next few minutes would decide.

.

Taking Barty Further

"How did you know?" was Crouch's only greeting, and his arm gestured towards the window through which the grey weather still looked resentful that its night of rage was over. The dark shadows under the wizard's blurry eyes indicated he had been up all night. The man was perched on the side of his bed but it had not been slept in.

"I'm a visionary; I see many things," said Adam drifting down to float upon a chair. Crouch's wand was visible but out of its master's reach on a side cabinet so Adam released his immateriality spell. The wooden seat creaked under his sudden weight.

Barty Crouch remained silent so Adam pressed on. "You've had two weeks to consider my proposals, what conclusions have you drawn?"

"Conclusions? We have a long way to go before I start making any decisions. You mentioned two others, I want to know who they are before proceeding any further. And my son... you spoke of moving him to a more secure location. I need to know more. I won't believe it until I see it for myself. Until then, he remains here. He's safe enough in the cellar."

"You might think so, but the Quidditch World Cup Final of 1994 will be held in Britain, and Barty would persuade you to allow him to attend. He might break free of your curse."

Crouch shook his head in wonder. "You cannot know that. We haven't even decided the setting for next year yet, let alone 1994!"

"Ireland will beat Bulgaria, 170-160 give or take a broken leg or two. I have seen it happen. Viktor Krum caught the–"

"Who?"

"The Bulgarian Seeker."

"Never heard of him."

"That's because he's only eleven years old this year."

Crouch paused a moment. "Then he'll still be at school in 1994! You should do your sums before fabricating these stories."

"He'll be in his final year at Durmstrang when he begins to play professional Quidditch, and if I were inventing the future, wouldn't I come up with something more believable instead of...?" Adam swept his arm towards the dull sky visible through the window.

"...instead of a hurricane in London? Right, so you've made your point but I am not handing over my son to your care without more information. For all I know you might be a former Death Eater recruiting him for Darkrise or Black Arc. Those gangs are–"

Adam smoked away down through the floor, calling, "If that were so, your son would be long gone and you would be dead, Barty."

"Wait! Wait! Come back!" cried Crouch.

He ran to the window but there was no indication that his visitor might have left that way. He peered up into the sky but no broomstick could he see. Frowning, he turned away and began hurrying in the direction of the door but immediately jerked to a halt. On the carpet in the centre of the bedroom lay his son with the big man towering over him.

"How...? How did you get past the anti-Apparition wards on that room? The enchanted iron door? The...?" He paused as the answer occurred to him. "You went straight through the ceiling, didn't you?"

Adam nodded. "I could have handed him over to the enemy, or even to the authorities and the Dementor's Kiss, anytime I wished." Seeing the concern in Crouch's eyes, he added, "Don't worry, he's just deeply asleep – as is Winky downstairs."

Crouch came forward but only gave his boy a cursory examination. "Very well, I accept you mean no harm to us, but I still wish to view your security arrangements."

"I always intended that you do," said Adam.

They took Barty Crouch junior back down to the basement and his father threw an invisibility cloak over the sleeping form. Adam took one last look around the room. It was a spacious chamber with a modest dining area on the opposite side to the two beds. Winky the house-elf lay asleep in one of them. There were no windows and no other exits than the one through which they now returned upstairs.

"Take my arm," said Adam, once they were outside the cellar wards.

"Now we're Apparating?" Barty frowned but whatever he was thinking, he kept to himself.

He staggered slightly when they arrived in the bell tower, and his face took on a sickly pallor. "I've never... that must be the furthest I've..."

"We're not even halfway there yet. Take a minute to recover."

A gust of air refreshed them both. Crouch looked to see where it had come from, but though his expression revealed his curiosity, he did not step towards the window to look out.

"This isn't England anymore, is it?" he said dismally. "You realise that as Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, my Ministry career would be over if it were revealed that I'd travelled to another country without permission?"

A deep chuckle rumbled in Adam's throat. "That would be the least of your worries if you agree to the proposals I intend to make to you. Come, take my arm again."

.

No Way

"Azkaban!" wailed Crouch, the moment he felt the icy presence of Hermione's captive Dementor.

Crouch sank to his knees in the dungeon cell, despair clouding his features. He clutched his head in anguish. "Martha, Martha, I'm sorry..."

Within seconds, Adam relented and Apparated Crouch away to one of the caverns she had prepared. Here he remained on hands and knees, not yet daring to look up, but at least sensing he was free of the Dementor's influence.

"You keep performing the impossible, Brown," he gasped as he took the piece of Hestia's Pepper-up-chocolate that Adam was offering him. "We Apparated in and out of Azkaban as if it were an open street."

"Not Azkaban, but a simulation of it that I have created. Oh, the Dementor is real enough. Sorry, but you needed to experience it for a few seconds to believe me."

"But why?" He did look up now, and gazed in wonder at the large, well-lit cave in which he found himself.

"Convicted prisoners will be offered three choices: Azkaban, a roomy cell like this one, or... death – I know some prefer death as a kind of mercy killing rather than endless confinement without hope."

Staggering, Crouch forced himself up and blinked at Adam. Without words, he opened and closed his mouth a few times, then took out a large handkerchief with which he proceeded to mop his forehead. Finally, he said, "Explain."

"Our hopes for the future will take years. During that time, the dark gangs will kill many. Some of their members are already guilty of dreadful crimes. We require an interim reliable justice system as soon as possible."

"How?"

"I will take every opportunity to covertly arrest those I know have broken the law; as Minister-in-waiting, you will oversee that they receive the highest justice we can provide – and to keep me in check if necessary. I'd also hoped for a third party to balance this court but that might not be possible."

Without once taking his eyes off Adam's face, Crouch thought about this for a few moments. "You don't really need me at all, do you – except to salve your conscience?"

"Something like that," admitted Brown. "I have human emotions; I make mistakes but I will not have any hesitation in carrying out the death penalty on a justly convicted felon if it should be required."

"You'd do that? Have you no mercy?"

"I might ask you the same question! You imprisoned several suspects without trial."

Crouch's face darkened. "There was evidence that made their guilt quite clear to me! I used Veritaserum on some of them to confirm it. But a good defence counsel would never permit the truth serum to be used in court so the corrupt Wizengamot would free the accused if brought to trial. I couldn't let that happen. You can scarcely imagine some of the atrocities that took place after release by the so-called justice courts."

With a tone of great bitterness, Adam replied, "Oh, believe me, I can. I have seen what no other living person has ever seen – nor ought to. Those loathsome creatures will defile the Earth. These more-humane cells or death are the only mercy I will show them. Come..."

Adam led Crouch to view the darkened rest quarters. "Your son will be able to eat, bathe, and sleep here as well as read endlessly and take long walks for exercise. I see no reason why his mother's portrait might not also keep him company. Winky, of course, must never come here, nor any elf, for they have their own Apparition magic."

"As does my son. You will put up wards?"

"Of course."

"Even so, I fear he will find the way out."

"There is no way out; there is no 'out' to get to. Hundreds of miles of hard granite extend in all directions and many miles above us too – we are way, way below the surface."

Crouch visibly cringed as if sensing the immense weight of stone heaving and groaning in upon him. "Then where was _your_ first way in? How did you find this place?" He strode to the nearest rockface and began pacing along, searching for an opening. "No one can Apparate to where they have never been before, nor could you even know it was here. And even if you did, surely you could not dematerialise through hundreds of miles of rock?"

"My inner vision foresaw Muggles detecting these caverns more than a century from now. I travelled nearby, Apparated across the peaks to locate the best positions from which I then descended immaterially."

"Astonishing. You are full of surprises, Mr Brown."

"Isn't it about time you started calling me Adam?"

Crouch gave a slow nod but his attention was on the grand view down the extensive cave. He shook his head. "Without the Imperious Curse, he will no doubt summon Winky to carry him out. Even if I forbid Winky, with a lifetime to contemplate, my son will find a way to use his magic – possibly create a Portkey wandlessly or become immaterial as you do. Without a controlling curse, his magic will one day rescue him."

"Barty," said Adam, softly, "I'm afraid your son will not have any magic."

A flat-topped rock stood nearby, and Crouch sank down onto it. "What did you say?" he muttered weakly. "You mean make him forget he's a wizard?"

"No, I mean I shall remove his magic. All prisoners will lose their powers once convicted. They have abused the privilege and no longer deserve to be blessed with magical abilities."

Adam could see the word 'impossible' forming once more on Barty's lips, but no sound was uttered. "How?" he croaked, finally.

"The method is so dangerous that it must remain my secret. In any event, I will not be able to achieve it until the warmer weather returns next year. I need to seek out something so deadly that I cannot speak of it to anyone else. Its implementation will be my worst sin."

Adam turned away and lowered his head. Crouch remained sitting in wonderment at this man who held so much promise and power yet clearly was struggling to reconcile his plans with his conscience. What was anyone to do but continue learning from him? He hardly dared to intrude on the silence. "And your other helpers?"

There was no response for a few moments. "A meeting will be arranged soon." The big man raised his head and looked back mournfully at Crouch. "Come, let us return..."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Technically, it wasn't a hurricane (which are defined as tropical) that hit London in 1987 but they were hurricane-force winds. I'm not certain of every detail because I was unable to find every fact through Google. Did ambulances stop running at its height? Probably. Could a sudden 90mph crosswind overturn a car on a slope? Possibly. It's mostly my imagination so I hope it was believable._

 _Would it be in character for this Hermione to execute a prisoner if they requested it? A Hermione who has witnessed over a century of atrocities by them? Would it not be even more cruel to subject them to the Dementor's Kiss as Barty Crouch Sr must have done in the past? I don't know. I've not even decided if she will or even be able to execute anyone yet. But it will always be the condemned person's choice with a period of grace before the sentence is carried out._

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

.


	13. 0:Falling Leaves

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and family (Sirius & Hestia,) and is recruiting supporters to root out Ministry corruption. She has shown Crouch Sr her subterranean prison but he insists on knowing more. Meanwhile, Neville is still a little nervous of girls. Now read on... _

.

 **Chapter 13**

 **Falling Leaves**

* * *

.

Crushed

Madam Gawtley smiled in satisfaction as she glanced at the clock on the wall; the youngsters' training session was almost over. "Thank you, children. One more time..."

Harry pulled a horrible face. "Aw, Nan, do we have to? We can already do lights and things so why do–?"

"You and Neville still require basic focus practice to get best results with your magic. The training you do now will make your future lessons easier to grasp."

"But we've done it twenty times this morning already!" said Harry, glancing sideways at Neville and Hermione for support. Neville started to open his mouth but then fell quiet.

Madam Gawtley said, "So this will be twenty-one. Come on, Harry, you don't hear Neville complaining, do you?"

Harry muttered under his breath, " _Only because he's scared to._ "

"No I'm not!" hissed Neville.

"What was that, Harry?" said the teacher, firmly.

"Only because he's too polite," sniggered Harry, nudging Hermione on his other side. She grinned. Neville's cheeks pinked a little and he looked away.

"Something you might learn from him, young man," the teacher said sternly. "You're getting a little cheeky as you grow older."

"Sorry, that's my fault, Madam," said Hermione. "I've been encouraging Harry to stand up and speak for himself."

"Very commendable. Yes, you do need to be strong against evildoers, Harry, but never forget to respect those who wish you well."

"Sorry, Nan," Harry said softly. "Sorry, Neville."

Madam Gawtley nodded her approval. "Right then. All ready? And ... deep breath ... focus... feel the magic flow up from your centre ... along your arm ... and through your wand. ... Hold it. ... And... relax."

Harry sagged theatrically flat onto the carpet with a long, weary, yawn. Madam Gawtley hid a smile by turning to summon her cloak from the stand in the corner of the room they'd set aside for classwork. "I'll see you all again in a few days, but remember to practice, won't you?"

"Yes, Madam," the children intoned together. Harry ran after his teacher at the door and gave her a goodbye hug.

After she had departed, Hermione began wondering about the teacher's gentle rebuke of Harry's behaviour. Was Harry changing now he had friends? Was she herself responsible? "Harry, I think there might be something in what she said. You need to learn to face up to any threat but don't lose sight of who your real friends are – we're here to support you."

"But all I said was–!"

"I can take care of myself!" snapped Neville. He stomped across to the corner furthest from the window and began practising his spark colours.

"Enough for now. Let's continue with our defensive training." Hermione strode into the middle of the room. "Okay, Neville, take up your position on my right. Harry you stand rear centre. I'll swing back tinglers for us to guard against."

"LUMOS!" yelled Neville, making everyone blink as he swung round with an extra bright spell to flood the room. "Why's it always Harry gets the most protection!"

Hermione gaped at the outburst, and rubbed her eyes against the glare. "Neville! We can't see what we're doing!"

"Harry this, Harry that!" continued Neville, winding his illumination up into a fierce ball that spun across the ceiling.

"It's not always Harry! I vary the way we train!" cried Hermione.

"You just see me as someone to give Harry extra protection! Well what about protecting me!" blurted Neville. He stomped towards the door, his light fading above him as he went.

"I do not!" said Hermione. "We're all–"

"YOU DO! You just said we're only here to support Harry! Who put you in charge anyway! You're just a bossy-boots!" He slammed the door on his way out.

"Neville!" Hermione's shout faded to a sigh. "I'll fetch him back." She ran to the door and pulled it open.

"No... don't... he's right," said Harry softly.

Hermione braked to a standstill in the doorway, one stride still in the air. She slowly lowered her foot and peered out into the gloom on the empty landing, listening to Neville's fading footsteps. A distant door slammed. Emptiness. She turned slowly to face her friend. "You... you think I'm bossy too?"

"Well, uuhm... a _bit_ bossy." He looked down and began fiddling with his wand. "And you do, sort of... keep trying to over-protect me."

Hermione bit her lip to stop it quivering. "But I... but I..." she began tearfully. "I only..." She took one step backwards into the room, confused. Had she ruined their friendship by trying too hard? Was she manipulating them to be how they were before, only better-prepared?

"Harry, you laughed at Neville – said he was scared. That's what this is all about." But there was no conviction in her tone as she closed the door and returned to her friend.

"No," said Harry, "he really is nervous of girls, and even of grownup ladies like my nan – all of them except his own mum and gran. It's because he's never really spoken to any, not even seen one except across a street. Well... there were some girls but they... embarrassed him – it's their fault really. He's fine with me when we're on our own; it's just that..."

"What?"

"Well..." Harry rubbed the toe of his shoe back forth across the carpet. "It's you really, Hermione."

"Me!"

"You must have noticed he goes all squiggly when you walk in!"

"No. Well... no, not really. I mean, I don't see him any other way. I thought he was getting over his nervousness."

"He's quite tough really – more than me, anyway," Harry said earnestly. "But..."

"But what?"

"You know..."

"No, Harry, I don't."

"It's you."

"So you keep saying! What is it about me?"

"Nothing." Harry began collecting up his class books into his bag.

"Harry?"

Harry giggled. "I think he... I think he likes you."

Hermione stared at him. " He's only SEVEN! Surely you can't mean he's got a schoolboy crush...?" She shook her head vigorously.

"A what?"

"Er... I mean... he really, really likes me." Hermione groaned. This was worse than she thought.

.

Inviting The Gairs

By late November, Hermione had decided it was time to bring together the ones she considered would be amongst the most important society-shapers of the next century. Because she'd observed it before in her future life, she knew the three of them would eventually get along fine, but she expected a little hesitancy this early in their lives. Still, there was plenty of time. Even Crouch – regarded by his peers as sidelined – was only forty-nine, and being magical, still had many decades of service to offer; the other two were a few years younger still. Yes, easily enough time to establish themselves.

Jop Gair stared at the scrap of parchment that Adam Brown was holding out to him. "This is where the meetings will take place?"

"The owner has already agreed – and it's protected by the Fidelius Charm for maximum privacy and security."

"But..." Jop looked at his wife.

"What is it?" encouraged Adam.

"I'd like Vera to attend too – to act as secretary, record the discussion and..." he hesitated for a moment looking uncomfortable, then squared his shoulders and continued more firmly, "I'd like the others to meet both of us, then my wife can present a Muggle's viewpoint as well."

Adam stared at them both for several seconds. "Of course. I thought that was understood. Vera, I did say on my first visit that you would be critical too. I'm also hoping that you'll be the first Muggle on the Wizengamot – alongside your husband."

Vera became very still; had she heard right? Jop swayed in confusion. He steadied himself against the kitchen table. When he spoke it was an airless gasp. "Impossible. The Wizengamot is exclusively a magical council that..." He sat down, deep in thought. "No, wait... this is too, too much to absorb."

Adam said, "I have studied almost as much of British magical laws and customs as you have, Jop. Only the Chief Warlock is self-defined as a magical person. The Wizengamot is older than the Ministry itself. No one ever thought to specifically restrict membership to those of magical birth. The original Council came together gradually over many years with no written rules."

"You're right," murmured Jop in a daze. "Who'd have considered such an astonishing idea?"

"There is no guarantee that you'll ever be voted in of course, Vera – I have not foreseen it in the same way that I've seen your husband's acceptance. However, I am extremely optimistic that once we have made enough changes to the current membership, then they will become more receptive to the idea of a Muggle candidate – especially one with degrees in sociology and economics."

Vera's eyes widened. "You know?"

"I know you were laid off from your employment when you were expecting a child. And that by the time you had raised your son, you had sacrificed your own career to become involved with Jop's cause. Now you can fulfil both of your ambitions. Your destiny awaits you, Vera. Memorise the address with Jop, destroy the message, and we'll go."

.

The Assembling of the League

"YOU!" Jop Gair and Mike Worthing shouted at each other, the moment the Gairs and Adam Brown were shown into the study by a house-elf.

Jop rounded on Adam. "This is a scoundrel who trades in misery – a Slytherin! – and you want me to work with him?"

"You expect this wishy-washy nobody to sway the Wizengamot!" roared Mike. "Is that your majestic scheme? And do you expect..." His voice faltered as he noticed Vera's attire. There was the briefest moment of shocked silence. "YOU'VE BROUGHT A MUGGLE INTO MY HOME? HOW DARE YOU! MY WIFE ENTRUSTED YOU WITH THIS ADDRESS AND YOU BRING–!"

"NOW SEE HERE!" shouted Jop, raising his wand.

The door was opened once more. The elf entered and began to introduce Barty Crouch senior, but it took only moments for the magical folk to recognise one another.

"YOU!"

" _YOU!_ "

" _ **YOU!**_ "

The elf scurried away trembling and closed the door behind him.

"Are you completely insane?" cried Crouch as he swung to face Adam. "A bootlegger and a beggar? Are these the best you–!"

"A failed tyrant whose greatest achievement was to father a crazy Death Eater!" screamed Worthing, jabbing a finger accusingly towards Crouch.

"MUGGLE-HATERS, BOTH!" declared Gair, throwing his hands in the air. Vera clutched at his arm, clearly upset.

"SILENCIO!" Adam gazed around the hushed group who were still mouthing wordlessly at one another even after the spell had taken effect. He waited a few moments until he began to gain their attention. "Jop, did I not foresee the Wimbledon winner? Barty, you know I foretold the Great Storm. Mike, I have revealed to you the death of Man. Now I say to you all that I have observed you: _working ... together ... harmoniously."_

The group stopped glaring at each other and stared at Adam instead.

"However," continued the big man, "I know of circumstances that will keep you in different walks of life for another thirty years. Intolerance and bigotry must separate you for another twenty after that. Beyond, I know you will only be forced together by terrifying events. Under common adversity, you work well together as a team."

Adam paused while he examined their expressions, then continued, "Too late. Only a few years after that, in 2044, everyone of you here will die – along with most of mankind. Do you wish to wait another half century before you act in unison?" He released them all from the silencing spell.

Crouch and the Gairs were shocked. Mike's reaction was more subdued but he said, "You're wrong. I'm not antagonistic towards Muggles. It's just that you had no right to bring one into my home without asking me first!"

Jop swerved angrily towards Mike, but Adam held him back, saying, "How dare you, Mike! May I remind you that Muggle healing will save your life! Or would you rather cast that out of your home too?"

Mike Worthing frowned irritably at the reminder, then walked away to think quietly at the window.

"He's dying," whispered Adam to the others.

"What! I didn't–" Jop's attention switched rapidly around the others in the study.

Adam continued, "I cannot pretend there's no truth in some of the stories you have heard about his early business practices, but he's changed. The face of death can do that to a man. At least now, Muggle medicine can save him. Will both of you not give him a chance to prove himself? His trading empire will open many doors."

Crouch snarled, "Worthing's certainly proved his business skills but you, Gair, have been a mere fly in the Ministry ointment, buzzing around for a long time and achieving nothing with your words."

Jop cringed. "I have tried..."

"Trying is what you are!" cried Crouch. "You have tested my patience with your endless petitions. You belong nowhere."

Adam pushed between them. "Barty, you are completely wrong if you measure Jop's popularity by the conflict with your own departments – now and previously. He is accepted as a diplomatic go-between by all but the most extreme pure-bloods; an agreeable visitor who is welcome in many camps and has helped reconcile–"

"Thumbs in pies but no fruit!"

Jop tried to defend himself politely. "You're right that I've not accomplished much yet but–"

"You ruined my chances of becoming Minister after my son's conviction! You practically led the character assassination!"

"I used the opportunity to end your rough justice. Sentencing without trial, authorising use of the Unforgivables by selected Aurors, your kill squad murmured in the taverns as the... what did people call them? The Seven Deadly Sinners?"

"I never sanctioned murder! They were only to use deadly force if absolutely necessary."

"Yet you gave them the benefit of the doubt when a suspect died during an arrest."

"How is one to prove foul play in such situations? In any event, only Steff Daggard was directly accused, and there was much provocation."

"Mad in the end, wasn't it?" said Jop. "Then conveniently released without charge. It was–"

" 'She' – you mean ' _she'_ not _it_."

"No, I mean ' _it'_ because eventually _nobody_ could figure out which! I don't think even _SHE_ knows herself! Too many potions over the years if you ask me – Polyjuice can do that, you know! Anyway, I'll never agree to sentencing without–"

Adam shifted uncomfortably then cut off Jop's ranting. "You won't need to. Justice is something we need to discuss. No one should be penalised without solid proof."

Crouch growled, "But neither are we going to allow loopholes and escape routes for pure-blood supremacists."

"Agreed," said Adam. He gave Jop a meaningful look.

Jop nodded slowly, then said, "Agreed." He looked around for his wife and spotted her talking with Mike Worthing at the window. Their silhouettes were apart yet at least leaning inward to each other.

Adam followed Jop's gaze. "He seems to be apologising to your Vera," he murmured.

"My wife does have a way with words," Jop replied with a note of pride. "Leave them to it for a few minutes. She'll bring him round if anyone can."

Barty Crouch's attention had fallen on the small Pensieve then, sitting in the centre of a polished round table surrounded by chairs. "Why don't we all sit down?"

"Like knights of old," smiled Jop.

"What's that?" said Crouch, settling himself down. "Oh, yes, Arthur and those earlier revolutionaries, you mean."

"I like it. There'll be no head of table," said Adam. "We'll all be equal here."

"And the Pensieve? Is there any reason for it?" grunted Crouch, suspiciously.

Mike heard the last remark, and returned with Mrs Gair. He said, "Adam, I think the others should experience what you showed me. Let them know what the future holds if we fail."

Adam bit his lip and hesitated. "Would you take them then, Mike? I don't want to suffer it again so soon."

Mr Worthing looked curiously at the big man for a while, then nodded.

"Now wait a minute..." began Crouch.

Adam cut him off. "If you've any trust in me then trust Mike. You need to see this, Barty. You agreed you need to know more, yes?"

Sullenly, Crouch accepted with the merest dip of his head.

As they cautiously grouped around the dish, Adam watched silently. Vera in particular seemed very apprehensive, and Jop took her hand. After they had disappeared into the bowl, Adam turned aside and went to the window for a more pleasant view. The sun was tepid and the garden was displaying subtle autumn pastels that helped distract from the terrible memory lurking within the Pensieve: the remnants of London.

A good portion of the next hour passed unnoticed, for Adam's thoughts were far away, pondering the many difficult tasks that lay ahead even if the three united. And was it assured that they would anyway, this early in their lives? And what of Vera? No certainty there at all, only hope and faith.

Out through the window, across the estate of Oakside Manse, Adam could see children at play – no doubt Mike's youngest. Perched on a fence nearby, a small black bird waited patiently in case of need, its eye sharply fixed on the window out which Adam gazed. Occasionally a breeze rustled the trees, scattering more dead leaves to join the drifting heaps below...

A disturbance in the room behind caused Adam to turn back to the Pensieve to watch the gathering return. They were clearly affected by the experience. Vera was sobbing silently on her husband's shoulder. Crouch looked very grim.

While they there still emotionally vulnerable, Adam pressed the advantage home. "You have seen the beginning of the end of the world – never forget it. Without our magic, Muggles are destined to destroy everything. But without their advances, we in the magical community are doomed to wither away in the dark ages. What we require is mutual understanding and a synthesis of both communities – or at least a secret alliance. That will take decades but it begins here!"

With a gesture of his hand, they all seated themselves around the table with the Pensieve remaining as a reminder in their midst.

"Mike, you objected to having a non-magical in your home and yet your business networks extensively with the Muggle world. Can you explain?"

Looking rather sheepish, Worthing described his trade, his political connections at Westminster, the ongoing study of methods employed in the workplace, and how his company benefited from this connectivity. "But until today, I never invited a Muggle into my own home – that was more to do with the Secrecy legislation than anything. It was a shock earlier and I have apologised to Mrs Gair." He bowed his head in her direction, and she nodded.

Adam said, "Your business has profited from your efforts but have you advantaged the Muggles in return?"

Mike looked startled at the concept and appeared to struggle to remember anything relevant. "Well, we magically supply them with components they are unable to manufacture themselves."

"And no doubt charge a pretty Sickle?"

"Whatever the market will stand."

"Then I would ask you to urge your best people to extend their connections over the coming years with a view to eventually helping the Muggle world in other areas: inter-state cooperation, crime elimination, health, education – and others to be decided. Make inquiries, create study groups within your workforce. Come up with solutions – you're efficient at that and you have the resources."

"To what profit?" puzzled Worthing.

Adam groaned. "We benefit by staying alive for a few more centuries! Magicals and Muggles together."

Crouch barked, "We can't even find peace in our own world! How are we expected to–"

"Oh yes we can!" Adam loudly declared. "We have the perfect means. Only the imbalance of power in favour of outdated ideas has prevented it so far. We are going to fix that by enhancing the justice system – making it more reliable and efficient."

"Explain," said Jop.

"Once we have established our own power base, we shall use Veritaserum, Legilimens, and devices such as this Pensieve to quickly and reliably prove guilt."

"That has never been accepted and never will be. Who would approve having their darkest secrets revealed in a public court? Prosecutors would humiliate the accused even when they are innocent."

"There will be controls such as the Triapetit and monitored Legilimency by thoroughly-vetted practitioners. The benefits will far exceed any weaknesses. It might not be perfect but the current system is a farce. The Muggle courts are far more ethical than the magical equivalent. They only lack a perfect truth serum to cut through doubt and debate and speed up investigations and prosecutions."

Jop sighed. "Even if ever approved, such radical changes will take years to bring about. You speak of improvements at the Ministry but I see signs that dark influences are increasing there, not diminishing."

"Which is why we must set up our own temporary justice system."

Everyone but Crouch stared at Adam as if he had just cast a Bombarda Maxima in the Ministry Atrium.

"That is revolution!" cried Worthing. "I want nothing to do with it!"

"Nor shall you," Adam said quietly, "Neither shall you two, Jop and Vera. I shall be the one detecting and arresting and carrying out the sentence. Mr Crouch here will keep me in check–"

"Might as well employ a jackal to keep the fox out of the henhouse," scoffed Worthing.

Before Crouch could do much more than snarl, Adam cried, "Barty is more like the farmer who had to chase every fox in the county because the local council tore down all the fences! Once the fences are restored, the farmer can focus on the real hen thieves and see that true justice is strictly adhered to. We'll achieve what Fudge's feeble Ministry will not and cannot do. In so doing, the Wizengamot will be pruned and weeded, allowing new plantings and improved growth."

"Absurd," laughed Worthing. "You really suppose you alone might accomplish what the entire team of Aurors cannot?"

"They need substantial prior evidence, endless paperwork, and suffer a dishonourable court that will attend to it all – they struggle to gain sufficient convictions to make a difference." Adam gazed sternly at Worthing. "But we can! I have foreseen much that the Aurors do not know – nor could they act on it even if they did."

"Suppose just for one moment you set up your cockatrice court, where is your Azkaban? Your wizard-proof prison to enforce the sentences?"

Crouch stirred uneasily in his seat.

"Only I shall know that secret," smiled Adam. "Come now, we've already agreed you want nothing to do with it."

Worthing frowned and softly snapped his fingers. Within moments, the elf appeared carrying a tray and began to serve tea.

Adam used the distraction to turn to the Gairs. "Jop, you already know your part is to prepare the best of the Wizengamot to be receptive and supportive, as well as all those associated with that council. Have you made any progress?"

"Yes, I have whispered in many ears and most are curious to learn more. However, that is still a mere fragment of those wielding power – particularly Fudge."

"Fudge only wields power because he influences many on the Wizengamot as you well know. Perhaps you could explain to the others how the system works."

"This is true. The Minister for Magic cannot change legislation of himself, he can only make proposals to the Wizengamot. Nor should he be able to enforce his own criminal justice because the Wizengamot adjudicates in such proceedings. In practice, sufficient members nod through most of his 'demands', and when he anticipates opposition then he arranges sudden 'emergency' meetings and 'forgets' to inform key voters that might argue against him."

"Correct," said Adam. "But we'll find a way to tap into his communications so we'll always have a full house representing our interests at the most important debates. Once we have replaced certain key Council members who are in his pocket then he'll be forced to follow the original rules of the Wizengamot that predate even the Ministry. He'll find he must approach the Wizards' Council in the first instance to guide him on the substance and wording of new laws. The Minister was only meant to be a servant of the Wizengamot, implementing their wishes."

Worthing gasped. "Are you sure? That's the reverse of how things are working now."

"I'm positive," insisted Adam. "The ancient Council created the Ministry to administer their will, not the other way round. Only in this last century has Council apathy and corruption allowed the Minister to act as if he were all-powerful. Nowadays, that falsehood has lapsed into accepted habit, and nobody questions it."

For the next hour they debated the initial methods and means that would favour their future aims. It was agreed that Mike was to employ the best of his top management to investigate ways that magic might help alleviate the problems of Muggle society and how, in turn, Magicals could learn from _them_. Vera would function as an impartial consultant and adviser, especially on matters of economics and social interconnectivity.

"Vera and I agree that we cannot completely abandon the Statute of Secrecy for many, many decades," said Worthing. "There would be chaos and fear if the entire Muggle population became suddenly aware of magic. Instead, Magicals must provide help under the guise of alternate technology and let only a few selected Muggles gain knowledge of our ways – senior security officials, trade ministers, and so on. It is not compulsory to publicly patent methods and inventions and services, and Muggles cannot reverse-engineer a charmed object or figure out our fast travel, communications, and protective shields. There are many possibilities of assistance in that way."

The group discussed a draft plan of action. Jop was to prepare the minds and hearts of favoured Ministry associates, especially on or near the Wizengamot and related departments. Working by his side would be Barty whose focus would be on those known or suspected to be corrupt. To this end, Adam proposed he create a relationship with a high-ranking Auror named Kingsley Shacklebolt thereby linking to the legendary but currently-disbanded Order of the Phoenix. Adam was to finish his preparations of the wizard-proof detention centre and consider first targets.

"We need a name," said Vera, looking up from the notes she had been scribbling.

"For what?" said Crouch.

"For us, for this group."

Adam smiled. "What have you come up with, Vera?"

"Well... we're initiating a major purge and gradual synthesis of two quite distinct societies." She hesitated, examining their expressions before continuing. "How about, 'The Cathesis League'?"

"There's no such word," said Crouch.

"You're thinking our efforts will be cathartic yet bring everyone together, right?" said Adam. "I like it. All in favour of 'The Cathesis League'?"

Jop's hand went up but Crouch frowned so Adam continued, "...as a working title until one of us comes up with anything better?"

Crouch nodded reluctantly and raised his hand; Worthing followed and signalled for his elf who fetched wine from a cabinet and began to pour.

"To 'The Cathesis League'!" announced Adam, raising his glass high with delight that the meeting had come so far. "Let it so be."

The group were beginning to accept each other and relaxed even more after a second drink. Adam in particular was becoming quite joyful with their progress. "I'm increasingly hopeful of _suss_ –success, and very glad to know you all _ash_ –as a team not _jus'_ –"

"What about you?" said Mike. "You know all of us, our abilities, our backgrounds, all in detail, but we know nothing about you. Don't you think now is the time to tell us who you really are?"

"Yes," said Vera, "in the interests of cooperation and mutual appreciation, we deserve to all know one another."

Adam grinned sloppily at the faces looking his way. Were they swaying? Or was that the walls? "I regret that will be _impoth-ssible._ I have to remain undercover for many more–"

"Then remain undercover with us!" said Crouch. "We have entrusted our lives to you. Don't you think we deserve that you trust us?"

Worthing stood up, looking very serious. "Let's vote on it. We the five founders of The Cathesis League ought to have a bond of complete confidence in each other's given word. If not, who can we trust? All those in favour?"

Everyone's hand rose except for Adam. He gaped a little, then shakily reached for his third glass of wine. "A bond...?"

"Yes, if you like, a magical vow," said Jop.

"Not _wha'_ I meant..." murmured Adam, slurping noisily at the drink.

"You're not thinking of the unbreakable vow?" said Crouch, anxiously.

Jop considered. "Well... let us then simply swear on our honour to protect one another's identities and uuh... remain faithful to the cause?" He turned to Adam. "Come on now, surely you can't deny us that?"

"Can't..." said Adam, draining his glass. "Need _anuffer dink..._ "

Crouch stood to join Worthing. "We insist," he said very quietly. He had not failed to notice Adam's intoxicated state, and was determined to take advantage of it.

Jop and Vera stood up too. "It has to be, Adam."

Worthing was nearest. He tried to hoist Adam to his feet. Jop had to help. Glasses were thrust forward to centre above the Pensieve. Adam's arm went forward instinctively.

"We pledge..." began Jop.

"We pledge..." repeated everyone.

"...to protect one another's identities..."

All repeated his words.

"...and to remain faithful to the cause."

"Let it _thso_ be..." muttered Adam, and slumped back onto his chair.

There were a few seconds of silence after everyone else sat down.

"Well?" said Crouch.

" _Polly Juthe..._ " said Adam, tilting his glass to his lips again but finding it empty.

"We can wait," said Worthing. "How long?"

Adam held his wrist steady while he carefully studied his wavering watch. His head began to droop. Crouch folded his arms and frowned. Minutes passed. Adam's eyes were looking very drowsy...

Worthing said, "Come on, can't you hold your drink like a man? You'd be a liability if–"

But Adam's head suddenly jerked upright. "Gotta go!"

His thick black hair was becoming bushier and lightening to brown. Mike and Jop found it far easier to hold him down in his seat than they had to hoist him up earlier – especially since he was slowly shrinking within his robes.

Vera understood first and put a hand to her mouth. "Oh. My. God!"

"Can't be..." muttered Jop, suddenly pale with astonishment.

"By Merlin's bones, I'll..." snarled Crouch, instinctively feeling for his wand.

Worthing cried, "A child? You're just a little girl?"

Hermione blinked, trying to gather her woozy thoughts together.

Chairs clattered over as the others backed away in horror.

"You... you... this is just a... A SCHOOLKID'S PRANK?" Crouch's face was dark with fury. "You led us to believe in this... this what...?" He shook his head while trying to fathom out the enormity of the deception.

"OUT! OUT! EVERYONE OUT! IT'S OVER!" barked Worthing. "DAMN YOU! _DAMN YOU ALL!"_

"We... we believed in you..." said Vera, looking at Hermione's bewildered face. Vera's face hardened and she swivelled around to her husband. "Take me home, Jop." There were tears glistening in her eyes.

"OUT! GO!" repeated Worthing.

Crouch, face like thunder, swore loudly and followed the Gairs downstairs. Worthing grabbed Hermione's arm. "Don't you ever come anywhere near me, my home, or my family ever again, you understand?" His voice was bitter and full of malice.

He hustled her out the door and called his elf. "Get her out of here. Take her home if necessary. Never let her through my door again. It's over. It's all over."

.

Get Much Worse

Immediately after returning home, Hermione hid in the shed, ashamed to face her mother. The girl cried for a long time. She'd always prepared herself for minor setbacks, but how was she to deal with the complete failure of her plan for the world and the dumb, stupid exposure of her identity so early? All was lost.

The meeting at Worthing's home had gone so well until that moment – but why had she not considered the effect of alcohol on her eight-year-old mind – having mature memories did not change that! Losing focus was fatal to advanced magic like immateriality and invisibility, just as it was to good decision-making. _If only I'd seen it coming!_

Wincing at the headache she refused to heal as a guilty penance, she pondered that last thought. One of her déjà vu experiences would have served her well to foresee the intoxication – then she would have refused the first sip of that cursed wine! If she knew why those events happened, perhaps they could be controlled?

She gazed into an old flower pot at a few Galleons carelessly left over from the last full crucible firing. The metal seemed as worthless as her life now. Hated by all those she wished to help, what was she to do? All her ideas lay in ruins – and the Earth would too, now that she had failed.

A tapping at the window made her look up from her miserable sobbing, "F-Farrimond! Is it from Harry?"

She swung open the grimy frame to let in the owl then, after placing a few treats on the bench, she retrieved the message and began to read:

 _Hermione,_

 _Neville has still not returned and his dad sent an owl to say they'll be away over Christmas. I think that's just an excuse so Neville doesn't have to see ~_ **me** _~ at the party._

The letter felt like life's cursory elbow had dug her once more in the stomach, and she let out a moan. All that eager efforts to secure an early circle of friendship had been unsuccessful. A teardrop fell onto the parchment. Ink ran. Harry, unable yet to use a scouring spell, had used a dry quill to crudely scratch away a word and replaced it with 'me'. Hermione knew full well who Neville was really trying to avoid, and it wasn't Harry.

Were the Fates laughing at her? Why had she been been given the chance of another lifetime? Or was it not destiny, but mere random chance because she had blown upon the Fabric of Life?

It all came to the same in the end, she thought dully. It was over. Her attempt to make things better had only made them worse.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Mmm... I'm only one chapter ahead of you now so don't worry if there's a slightly longer delay between future chapters. Hopefully that won't happen and my lag is only a temporary effect of indulgently writing Painting The Sky._

 _There has been debate, and I've given much thought to, whether one disappears into a Pensieve or merely sits there with head dipped. I slightly favour the disappearance – it's magic not science fiction. Both methods leave the viewer vulnerable (to attack I mean if an enemy came in while you're immersed head or body,) but the idea of even two or three individuals with their heads crammed together in one bowl is hard to believe whereas I can easily imagine dozens fully vanished inside. In a court situation I imagine an authorised 'group' would enter then give evidence afterwards._

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **\- Hippothestrowl**

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	14. 0:An Offer He Can't Refuse

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and family (Sirius & Hestia,) but 7-year-old Neville is jealous of the extra attention she shows Harry and angrily departs. Meanwhile she has been recruiting supporters (Barty Crouch Sr, Mike Worthing, and the Gairs) to root out Ministry corruption, but after discovering she is only a little girl they are all furious and she is thrown out. Now read on... _

.

 **Chapter 14**

 **An Offer He Can't Refuse**

* * *

.

Failing Neville

They say Time heals all, but even Christmas with Harry had not raised Hermione's spirits, and the new year held no promise for her as she gazed down from her bedroom window during a still, crisp night, early in January. The frosted lawn might have looked fragile and pretty on a better day, but now its icy face seemed merely unyielding and hostile.

What was she to do about Neville? Why had he changed so much? Harry insisted Neville was only shy and nervous with _her_ , but he'd never been infatuated in her former life.

Or had he?

Another Christmas came to mind, and her soft groan misted roundly on the glazing ... then gently and silently faded away. Neville had asked her to the Yule Ball in their fourth year! Struggling to remember what had seemed then of such little consequence, she attempted to visualise his face at fourteen years old. Slightly chubby, eyes glancing away – yet still he'd had the nerve to ask her, while Ron...

An intense flash of anger fuelled by misery made the window pane rattle from accidental magic – but it was irritation with herself. She'd been miserable and distracted by Ron not asking her, so she'd not only accepted Viktor Krum's invitation but lightly dismissed Neville with a "I'm already going with someone." Then she'd merely continued reading, deeply immersed in that stupid book, _Dazzling Dances For Debutants_ instead of softening the blow with a few kind words. How thoughtless and cruel her action seemed now to value pages before people! At the time she'd never considered how much he might suffer from the rejection. Perhaps he'd been mortified, heartbroken?

Instinctively, she placed her hand on the cold glass to reassure herself the window hadn't cracked then turned away from the cold night, back to her warm bed.

Still, at least at fourteen, he'd been old enough to handle it, and asked Ginny instead. But now, only seven? And raised without any experience of girls? That must be it. He'd formed an instant attachment to her that he could neither understand nor manage, so instinctively he was hiding from the source of the pain – herself!

She scrunched up in a tight ball under the blankets, wishing, just wishing, she could have been someone better deserving of this second chance at life, and not having to hurt friends with her domineering attitude.

 _Poor Neville!_ To make matters worse, she had focused on Harry. ' _Harry this, Harry that!'_ he'd shouted, and ' _You just see me as someone to give Harry extra protection!'_

The tragedy was that he'd been right. She had failed Neville.

.

Plan B

During the early months of the new year, Plan B evolved. Mankind in general were doomed but with her foreknowledge, she might at least save her friends and their families in some future magical enclave. The unplottable, unnamed, ravens' isle would be a good candidate, nor was the Moon beyond her capabilities if she put her mind and magic to it. Most, but not all, was lost.

Harry was still occasionally invited to visit Neville – though the latter never came to the Blacks while Hermione was there. Perhaps she could encourage Harry and Neville's independent friendship while she took that as an excuse to be away completing another quest – and hopefully restoring another reliable friendship.

Yes, that formidable task would keep her away for weeks or perhaps months. She could explain to Harry he might draw out Neville while she was gone! Harry would then not be lonely during her trip. Neville would slip back into a routine of visiting Grimmauld Place regularly. He'd half-forget about her. She'd hug him on her return, apologise, and make a lot of fuss over him during the ensuing years. And Ginny! Ultimately, if her scheming worked out, she could introduce him to the girl he once took to the ball! Surely he'd fall for her again and lose all interest in herself!

Somewhat cheered, Hermione went to have a long talk with her father about the next stage of her plan. The world's garden might decline into wilderness, but she could at least clear an area of weeds for her nearest and dearest.

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Uncommon Sense

Xenophilius Lovegood's anxious stare wavered up and down between the clock on the ceiling and the letter in his hand which he read to himself yet again with a kind of astonished hope:

 _Dear Mr Lovegood,_

 _I request your indulgence. My young daughter has an intense hunger for knowledge of all kinds and has recently been devastated by having to return a privately-loaned volume of_ Unusual Scandinavian Fauna _by Erasmus Darwin. Knowing of your expertise in this field, she has pestered me to write to you in the hope you might possess a copy of the book from which she might take notes. The information on Snorkack Communis is of special interest to her because of the location and the potential of protecting its lesser-known subspecies from extinction._

 _Should you be agreeable, we would be delighted to make an appointment at your convenience and on your terms._

 _Hoping to hear from you by return owl,_

 _I am yours sincerely,_

 _Edward Granger_

Mr Lovegood's head jerked upwards. "PANDORA!"

At his thunderous bellow, the horizontal clock fell from the beam above and into the hat which Xeno had swiftly held out before him. He placed them both on the round sideboard in the corner.

"Whatever's the matter?" His wife stood on the metal circular staircase peering down, wand in hand. When she saw her husband wordlessly waving a parchment at her, she joined him.

"Look at this," was all he could breathlessly say.

She did so, reading the letter aloud. "Have you got this book?"

"No."

"Well then, tell them so, and that's an end to it."

"You don't understand – irreplaceable knowledge lost–"

"Ten fifteen," came a muffled, clickety kind of voice from the hat.

"Husband, dear," she interrupted, "what is the clock doing turned over in your hat?"

"Uuhmm... oh, yes, because it fell face down. Listen, this–"

"I think you should ask them over," piped up yet another voice, this time from inside the sideboard. Its doors swung open.

"Luna," said Mrs Lovegood, with forced patience, "how many times do I have to tell you, you are not a Niffler, and there's no treasure to be found in that cupboard."

"Well I did overhear that the little girl in Daddy's letter sounds nice – so that's a kind of discovery of treasure, don't you think?" said Luna. "We ought to help her."

"What's the point in her coming if we don't have the book," said Mrs Lovegood, "and neither does she now?"

"But _she's_ read it," Luna smiled serenely. "Daddy, you could ask her what she remembers."

Mr Lovegood's eyes widened. "That's right."

"Why would she come over?" persisted Mrs Lovegood. "We don't have the book."

"We know that – but she doesn't." Luna was gazing dreamily into the hat.

"Luna, darling, please... I know what you're thinking but... please don't get your hopes up. Mr Granger's daughter sounds very... uuh... intellectual. Perhaps she... perhaps she already has plenty of friends of her own."

Luna dipped her face right into the big hat to stare at the back of the clock close up. "If all clocks wore hats then the world could save on hatstands because everyone has a clock."

Mrs Lovegood smiled and shook her head. "Oh, Luna..."

"So, what d'you think, Dorry?" said Xeno.

"Why not?" his wife replied. "Ask the Grangers over. Perhaps the girl can teach Luna some common sense by example."

Luna pulled her face out of the hat so she could frown properly. "Why would anyone want their sense to be common?"

.

The Colour of the Universe

The beginning of Spring was a little overcast yet bright, dry, and only slightly cool – ideal for getting the best out of rusty joints. The Lovegood's garden gate creaked and squeaked musically in her ears as Luna swung upon it. She tried not to fix her gaze directly down the hill to the thread of grey that linked Ottery and Brandon Wo; it was more fun to discipline herself to the natural rhythm of the gate and look only once each swing.

"Four hundred and forty-one... Four hundred and forty-two..."

The toe of one shoe crunched along the dirt-and-gravel as the little girl braked to a halt. Colour was streaking and smearing the distant road. It reminded her of a watercolour jar where every colour blended into a dirty purple. _Funny, that,_ she mused while peering down the slope, _purple must be the colour of the universe because no matter what seven paints you mix, they all turn out dark purple._ Dirty purple was one of her favourite colours, and she had hundreds of favourites. And now here was the dull road being brightened up with the off-regal tint!

The young witch knew what it must be, of course. She called it the Dame Bus even though it was the Knight Bus, because it seemed only fair during daylight. She waved – not that she could ever hope to see anyone wave back from so far off. The bobbling, bouncing dots that appeared when the vehicle briefly halted and sped away were all you ever saw from up here on the hill. It taught her patience: watching with growing excitement as the dots grew larger until – just as they passed the scrubby hedge beyond the second pasture they seemed to sprout arms and legs! Luna loved that moment: humble beans turning into human beings as they drew nearer. Distance was magic! She waved again at the beans-being-beings.

A shout came back – a greeting! It was the littlest bean, the one with a floaty bush on its head running ahead towards her. Luna ran down with her own welcome.

"HULLOOOO! You're the Grangers! I was watching almost five hundred swings for you."

"Oh, th-thank y-you, so much!" puffed Hermione as she scampered up the increasingly-steep track. She had no idea what Luna was talking about, but was elated by that oh-so-familiar bewilderment the girl aroused. "Luna... Luna... Luna..."

The sky was a vivid, diffused light crowning the hill but little Luna's hair surpassed it as a resplendent luminous drift caping her shoulders. It had been that way when MacNair and Jugson's men torched and levelled the family home then nailed Luna twixt the blackened doorpost stumps and took her... broke her every way... left her hanging there to die several dreadful days.

Hermione burst into tears. "I'm s-so glad y-you ... are ... haven't..."

Luna's large eyes widened even further and she grasped Hermione's hands as she drew near. "It's excitement about the Snorkacks, isn't it! I love them too! Let's go inside – we have so much to share!"

With a nod and an excited 'come-on!' wave at Hermione's parents who were making their way upwards at a more leisurely pace, Luna – still holding Hermione's hand, led her back to the house. Hermione paused at the threshold, running her fingers over the present reality of the now-brightly-painted doorway.

Luna watched her with curiosity. "You like things, don't you? So do I. All the wonders of the world. I'm going to explore everything when I grow up. I have a confession to make."

Hermione's attention was caught, and her gaze turned to the blonde witch-child who was showing no guilt as she continued, "We don't have the book." – she did not pause to observe Hermione's reaction – "I wanted you to come here so badly, I made Daddy invite you as if we had. It wasn't his fault. He didn't actually say we have it, did he? So it wasn't a lie. But even so there was a risk of disappointing you for which I'm truly sorry. If you like you can do one bad thing at me to make up for it." She turned her cheek, appearing to invite Hermione to slap it.

Open-mouthed, Hermione stared in astonishment after the admission. She was not at all surprised the Lovegoods did not possess that particular book of Darwin's – the only known volume of the blasphemy would not be uncovered for many more decades – but she'd expected Xeno to be the one to contrive today's meeting. "Very well, then you must forfeit by keeping my own confession absolutely secret: I already knew you didn't have the book."

Blinking only once, the diminutive seven-year-old swore to hold the confidence 'eternally secure within her bosom', and the pair went inside hand-in-hand – mutual trust can sometimes have that influence on children.

.

Fable

"We're living in a fairytale, Anne," breathed Edward Granger as he and his wife walked up the hill towards the Lovegood's extraordinary round tower-house. "That bus... and now..."

Anne smiled, her fingers entwined with her husband's. "You're right – it's surreal. Our child told us of people living miles away in a magical tower at a location she could never have known about, yet here is the reality. And we're invited to discuss mythical creatures that are only documented in a single book that hasn't even been discovered yet! Can they be real?"

Edward answered with barely a shrug. They both watched as their daughter disappeared inside the home accompanied by a little girl with long straggly blonde hair. Further to the right of the house, beyond a small fruit orchard, gold and silver flashed – as if a fragment of sun had broken through the hazy sky for that one moment... then was gone.

Anne frowned. "Shouldn't we be more cautious? And yet I don't feel at all concerned to see Hermione meeting folk as eccentric as their letter indicated."

"She's in her element. We're the ones who are out of our depth," said Edward, adding as a nervous afterthought, "Remember her warning? Did you bring the sweetener?"

"Oh, yes." Mrs Granger patted her handbag reassuringly.

When they reached the curious building, Mr Granger called out politely. "Hello? Anyone home?" The door was only half open and they craned their necks to see inside.

"Hah–ha!"

A slightly green face with a hooked nose had appeared, craning around the door the opposite way so closely that the Grangers took a step back in alarm.

"Come in, do come into the warm!" cackled the woman. "You didn't feed the foal on your way up did you? Luna's caring for her until May. I only mention it because the gooseberries are nowhere near ripe enough."

The door was quickly pulled open and she stood to one side, raking in the visitors with long, dark-painted fingernails. The odd woman wore robes of black and on her head was a conventional pointed witch's hat.

She responded to their startled expressions. "Oh, this?" she said, pointing to the tip of her hat. "Helps me concentrate on my magic." She cackled again and the same fingernail – depicting a tiny seven-legged octopus – moved to her curiously pale olive complexion. "Didn't work too well this time, did it! I was trying to look young and guileless to put you at your ease, but only swallowed a lot of smoke instead." This time her cackle was more of a dry cough.

She pulled off the hat, shook out her long dark-blonde hair, then guided them within the family gathering. "I'm Pandora Lovegood, and this is my husband, Xenophilius."

The remaining introductions were followed quickly by the offering of warm refreshments.

"Oh, Xeno," cried Mrs Lovegood, "you know Gurdyroot is an acquired taste. Here, you two, try my strong brew instead – it's excellent for throats." Pandora began to pour from a big old teapot while Xeno sipped on a mug of steaming beetroot-coloured liquid then smacked his lips. Luna and Hermione sat on the rug before the fire watching the sparks and chatting quietly together.

"Well, they seem to have hit it off together," smiled Edward as he and Anne plonked sweetener cubes into their beverages.

She nudged him, and Edward looked up to see Pandora's astonished gaze. "Oh, this sweetener?" he said. "I suppose we could call it Muggle sugar – sweetens without harming your teeth and it's–"

"Nooooh!" mouthed Hermione, who was now on her feet, shaking her head and gesturing at the jug of Gurdyroot infusion.

"Aah, I see." Mrs Lovegood took a gulp of her own drink to hide what might have been a grin. "Forgive my staring but I was surprised you needed ten lumps in one cup of ordinary tea."

"Tea?" said Anne, weakly. She grimaced and stopped stirring, glancing at Hermione for a diversion from her embarrassment, but it was Luna who changed the topic of conversation.

"Daddy, I told Hermione we haven't got the book," she said. Her face was glowing before the hot coals. "But we can still share what we know."

"Quite right," said Mr Lovegood. He turned to Mr Granger. "I do apologise for not stating so specifically in my reply to your charming letter but–"

"But we were anxious," cut in Pandora, "to meet you and exchange what knowledge we do have."

"Thank you, my dear," said Mr Lovegood, gravely. "That is it, exactly. So, uuh..."

"Perhaps _I_ ought to start us off," said Hermione, taking a place at the table where the adults were assembled.

All eyes turned to her. Luna joined Hermione and poured herself a goblet of Gurdyroot infusion to which she began transferring a great many lumps of sugar. Anne watched mesmerised until the last lump of sugar stood proud of the surface of Luna's drink, then slowly toppled over and dissolved before Hermione continued:

"I have quite a good recollection of the book by Darwin – at least, the section about the common Snorkack."

"Ah yes, the _common_ Snorkack. We had wondered..."

"The name is misleading for they are quite rare, Mr Lovegood; probably only a few herds exist, and I know of only one of them."

Xeno's hands began to shake and he steadied his mug nervously. "You know?"

"Yes, the location of the one described in the book corresponds with a sighting reported in the second quarter of _Kung Zoologiska Chroniclen_ for 1981"

Everyone stared blankly so Hermione continued, "It's a Muggle Journal, so I'm not surprised if you've never heard of it. But as you do know, the creatures are visibly ephemeral even to magicals so it is almost unknown for a Muggle to see one, particularly since the creatures indulge themselves in and around the ice swamps so much – perhaps the creature was slush-muddy and steaming. Of course, the observer had no idea what it was she had seen but I could tell at once from the description that it was a common Snorkack. Naturally, that is the start point for any search for a Crumple-horn."

Mr Lovegood croaked, "And you... know the location?"

"Yes, its positioned well inside the dwarf birch forests in a mountainous area in the south of Sweden. The entire area is under Muggle protection to be preserved as wilderness for at least another century. It's incredibly difficult for Muggles to get permission and then painfully hard to penetrate to the centre anyway, even in the summer so–"

"Which brings us," interrupted Edward, responding to Hermione's cue, "to the main reason for our visit. We have come into a little extra money recently" – he glanced meaningfully at Hermione – "and have been considering funding a research expedition for our daughter when the warmer weather arrives – a kind of holiday project you understand – and wish to consult with you on the matter. Hermione knows the geographical coordinates but we'd need an experienced guide to manage the enterprise and get us there – someone sworn to keep the place secret because we don't want anyone hunting the Snorkacks for trophies. Of course, bringing back a few photographs would be acceptable."

The mug in Xeno's hand rattled as he lowered it onto the tray. The man rose jerkily to his feet, and his voice trembled when he spoke. "Sir, I would consider it an honour to offer my services in leading this excursion. I do have extensive knowledge of magical wildlife and my observations have taken me to many countries. In return, I request only the right to publish the information gathered – except for the location, of course – and any photographs we might be fortunate enough to take. All credit would, of course, be given to you."

"Mmm... we do not wish publicity for ourselves," cautioned Mr Granger, thoughtfully. "Would you be willing to accept the role of official discoverer – most especially if a Crumple-horn is found?"

Mr Lovegood staggered and his wife steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. He was unable to speak so Pandora spoke for him. "You are most obliging, Mr Granger. My husband will certainly give your terms full consideration." He nodded, which was about all he could manage at that moment, then sank down into his seat.

"Oh, _MUMMY!_ May I go too?" squee'ed Luna, jumping around the table to hug her mother's arm.

"Take Hermione to see Fable while I discuss it with your father – she might not have seen a baby unicorn before." Pandora turned to the astonished Grangers. "Anne, perhaps you'd also like to go with–"

The Grangers were out of their seats before she could finish, and hurrying after the two girls who were skipping and bounding out the front door.

"Edward!" called Pandora, "would you mind holding back for a few minutes? Unicorns are nervous of men so better to observe from a distance if you wouldn't mind?"

Firming his lips to hide his boyish disappointment, Mr Granger went to a window to watch. "Not at all," he said, though he could not see clearly where the others were headed, no matter how much he craned his neck.

Pandora Lovegood joined him, standing quite closely as if to share the window's view. "Edward, my husband is a good man but can sometimes be too easily persuaded into follies. I do hope that you–"

Mr Granger's head whirled around to look behind, but Xeno had already left the room – no doubt at his wife's bidding.

"What do you mean?" he said nervously, noticing that although Pandora's skin was not quite so green now, nor her nose so aquiline, she had donned her pointed hat again – and she was standing awfully near to him.

"I'm no fool, Edward." She took a tiny sip from the hot teacup which she had snuggled tightly between both hands and was now tilting it in Edward's direction, softly blowing its steam into his face as she spoke. "Clearly your intention – before you even first wrote to us – was to ensnare Xenophilius into taking this trip. Am I wrong?"

Edward gaped awkwardly, acutely aware now that he was alone with a real live adult witch of unknown abilities. "Uuh... Madam ... Mrs Lovegood, we meant no harm..."

"Of course not. And you were only being polite when you showed such eagerness to see the unicorn, weren't you, Edward?" she whispered, leaning forward even closer to his face with her steamy cup.

" _What...?_ " croaked Mr Granger. He was beginning to feel a little heady.

"Are you alright, Edward? Is it bashfulness that troubles you?"

"Mmm...?" He tried to shake away his confusion but could not.

"A full-grown man would be acutely embarrassed to show any interest in a baby pet. It's alright, you can tell me – you only wished to _pretend_ to be interested so as to humour your wife, that's true, isn't it?"

Mr Granger's face had screwed up tightly – as if he were fighting tears – fighting something. He shook his head and his lips quivered in shame-faced humiliation. "No," he whimpered. Tears were in his eyes, and when he blinked, one of them trickled down his face. "Please don't tell anyone. I really, really wanted to see the little unicorn more than anything."

"I know you did, Edward, I know you did," purred Pandora, and with each word, more steam was puffed into Mr Granger's face. "What was the real reason you came here, Edward? You have to tell me the truth now, you know that. We both do. We can share anything. You want to, don't you? Then everything will be alright again."

Edward nodded vigorously and a second tear drop shook away from the end of his nose. When he spoke, his voice trembled with emotion. " _Hermione – it w-was for m-my little Hermione._ " Mr Granger was quietly sobbing now. "Poor Hermione; she so wants to make friends. She learned about your husband's interest in magical creatures so she researched for something to help. It's all true about the herd she found, the Darwin book too – she told me. Hermione thought if we did something nice for your family that Luna might like her and want to be friends with her. A girl-to-girl friendship is different, she said. She only has one close friend, you see, but he's a boy. A boy's not the same even if he is Harry Potter. Hermione wanted to befriend a girl so they can talk about girly things and–"

"Who did you say?" Mrs Lovegood had straightened up, a look of astonishment on her face. "Is your daughter a friend of Harry Potter?"

"Yes," said Mr Granger meekly brushing a hand across his cheek, "she's Harry's best friend."

Pandora's laughter was no longer a cackle but a smooth, sustained musical symphony as she removed her hat. "Go, Edward. Go and look at the unicorn."

 _What a nice lady,_ Edward thought to himself as he descended the western slope past the little orchard. He couldn't remember exactly what they'd talked about but he felt as if an enormous burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Everything alright, Dad?" called Hermione, as he cautiously approached.

"Yes, fine. I daren't come much nearer – they don't like–"

As Anne and Luna stepped aside, Edward had his first real glimpse of Fable, and held his breath. The creature's glossy coat was gold with silver streaks, and her hooves were golden too.

"She's gradually turning all silver, Dad," said Hermione. "She won't be all white for a few years yet. Come on, you can come close if you move slowly and don't startle her."

Anne watched her husband's face as, in a dream, he looked at the bony stub on the unicorn's forehead that Luna was rubbing.

"It's like teething – it gets a bit sore and itchy as it comes through," Luna explained. "I put Murtlap on to soothe and cool it."

"Poor thing," said Anne.

"I know," said Luna, "her mother was injured by a careless wandmaker, but she'll be healed in a few weeks."

Edward glanced back up to the house. Xeno and Pandora were standing at the doorway, waving in a very positive manner.

"I think they've agreed," Anne murmured in his ear. "Looks like the trip is on."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Seems like Hermione is not the only devious character in this tale! That Pandora, eh? But did Hermione prepare for such suspicion? She certainly only told her dad what she wanted him to know..._

 _Yes, Erasmus Darwin really was the grandfather of Charles Darwin and he really was a wizard, but the family hushed it up._

 _And if you think it's impossible for a seven-year-old Neville to fall for a girl of the same age then believe me, I speak from experience! I didn't even know what it meant but only that I wanted to be with her, and talk to her more than anything in all the world. Alas! It was the end of the school year. I moved up to junior school and never saw her again. Which is why I'm this bitter, twisted wreck today. (sigh)_

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	15. 0:Quest For A Creature

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and family (Sirius & Hestia,) but 7-year-old Neville is jealous, and her plan to root out Ministry corruption fell apart, so she must rethink what can be done and how. She persuaded the Lovegoods to help her search for a Snorkack – but was it solely to make friends with Luna? Now read on... _

.

 **Chapter 15**

 **Quest For A Creature**

* * *

.

Timberline Camp

Although the country's climate was generally mild considering its latitude, the intended destination within Sweden was too high and bitter to consider travelling there in any but the warmest part of the year. Additionally, Hermione wished to delay until after Harry's eighth birthday at the end of July. So it was, at the start of August, tearful goodbyes were exchanged and Hermione set out alone to the Lovegoods to begin the start of the journey. She had not needed much effort to persuade her parents to remain behind. Mr Granger could not spare even a month away from work and Mrs Granger took the opportunity to rejoin him 'to keep my hand in' she joked, biting her knuckles in imitation of a frightened patient.

"Send Farrimond regularly, won't you, darling?"

"Of course I will, Mum, and I can pop over in seconds if I'm needed for anything important."

The expedition was organised beautifully by Pandora. Permits and papers and Portkeys from the Swedish Magical Authority had been received long before Hermione arrived at the Lovegoods. Xeno was fussing over his brood of cameras like a mother hen; Luna was packing sketchpads and pencils – "For Mummy to paint properly when I get home" – and Mrs Lovegood herself was diligently ticking items on a giant checklist with her wand. Three items remained: her husband and the two youngsters, to each of which she gave her final scrutiny and nod of approval.

Pandora kissed goodbye her daughter and Hermione as they stood on a virtual raft of luggage and equipment not far outside the front door. Xeno embraced his wife for one final smooch then she stood back as he and the two young girls gripped the flagpole in the centre of the rough pontoon.

The swirl took them away in moments and the air cooled rapidly as they skimmed into a soft landing high up on a broad western incline where mountain scree fought miniature tree for every inch of available space. The sparse, stunted woodland ended its uphill struggle at this tired-out battle front of nature. While there was no depth of snow except on the higher peaks, there were thin, frozen hoar streaks here and there and solid frost glittered too from many surfaces. Hermione shivered but Luna gave no indication she'd noticed it was cold.

"Ideal campsite!" beamed Xeno, looking up the dry slope for any sign of snow or rock slides. "Right, first things first."

He went over to the baggage and slid out a small wand which he handed to Luna. "Show me the firecracker spell then run like I've taught you, Luna – bright and loud as you can way over there near that tree."

Hermione looked on in astonishment as the little girl cast the spell then turned and ran in the opposite direction. The flames were as high as the topmost branches but caused no harm –while the noise was as loudly-shocking as a dozen fireworks cracking off in sequence. The tree shook a little and frost cascaded down. Even a Manticore would be startled by such a display and likely be diverted for a time.

"First rule is we stick together so only use it if you are threatened or lost," cautioned Mr Lovegood, "and I'll come running. Hermione, you keep close, understand?"

Surprised by his common sense and innovation, Hermione could not help but wonder if Pandora had instructed him, for his next move was to cut out and ignite a long trench of fire that quickly began warming them.

Once a set of connected wigwams had been sprung up in a semi-circle, Hermione asked Luna about her magic.

"I'm only allowed that one spell and a life charm for my drawings – oh, and a few sparks," replied Luna. "Mummy's teaching me to draw. She says I'm not old enough for a wand yet except under supervision or in an emergency, and in Britain, children can't use them away from their parents because of the Trace."

"Quite right," said Mr Lovegood as he hung a kettle over the campfire. "Too dangerous."

As they sat watching the kettle swing over the warming flames, Hermione considered the moment was opportune. "Have you considered a child's trainer wand? You can do quite a few simple spells with them."

Xeno's head jerked away from kettle-watching. "No reputable wandmakers sell those dangerous playthings and the Ministry discourage them!" He puffed out his chest. "Earlier this year, we at The Quibbler played our part in uncovering an illicit den that was circulating all kinds of unauthorised wands – some stolen from genuine wandmakers! It was all run by a nasty little trader named Pilf who had a shop in Knockturn Alley to sell the contraband. I'm convinced they were trying to radicalise toddlers to march into the Ministry and take over wizarding Britain completely! They must have believed that even Fudge wouldn't let loose his Heliopaths on small children – but I'm not so sure," he added in a mysteriously-lowered voice.

"Anyway, after our article was published, those ruffians were all closed down and the stock confiscated before they could harm the pure minds of our little ones. The villains' term in Azkaban must be breaking their hearts with remorse while they dwell on the consequences of their actions."

"Right... well... erm..." said Hermione, trying to remember if she'd used her trainer wand at all while with the Lovegoods.

"So remember, children," continued Mr Lovegood, as he poured the boiling water from the kettle into a teapot, "if you see anyone with an improper wand you should report them immediately before they are completely corrupted."

"Yes, Daddy," Luna said dutifully.

"Of course, we must help _the little ones,_ " smirked Hermione, "though there are only Muggles where I live." Inside she was wondering how on Earth she could bring Luna into her growing circle of friends all of whom, she hoped, would be learning basic magical concepts with trainer wands. That thought reminded her of another family, and a possible introduction.

"How about you, Luna, do you know of any youngsters near your home who might be in danger of misusing magic like those horrible children with trainer wands?"

"There are the Weasleys. Fred and George are very naughty – _they_ might have been corrupted already," she said with a steady nod of firm disapproval, "I've never seen them with a wand but they'll be eleven next year so Ron and Ginny had better watch out because they're only our age. Ginny's my friend but I don't get to see her as often as I'd like."

"That's sad," said Hermione. "I wish I could meet more magical children too." She held her breath but she did not have to wait even one second for Mr Lovegood to take the bait.

"The Weasleys are a fine family and Arthur works for the Ministry. I can't see him allowing any of his children to possess a contaminated wand. I'll introduce you when we return if you wish it, Hermione?"

"That would be wonderful!" Hermione smiled. _Mission accomplished!_

The rest of the day was spent observing the surrounding area with omnioculars and plotting visible landmarks on their chart to orient themselves.

Hermione explained what she knew from the Darwin book. "The Snorkack gatherings have their favourite haunts they revisit for a year or two before moving on so I'm confident we might detect the reported herd in one of these these three directions," said Hermione, jabbing at the X's she'd marked on the map. "But we'll need to be patient – very patient."

"Don't worry, I'm used to keeping watch," said Xeno.

Hermione shook her head. "We'll be lucky to see them to begin with. Not much scent either, especially at these temperatures. No, we'll need to listen very quietly for a hoof on stone, a faint snort, or the sound of chewing. It will mean us keeping very quiet most of the time."

.

Waiting for a Sign

A dense fog had settled in the next morning and, despite some fancy spells cast by Mr Lovegood to detect both warm and cold-blooded creatures, nothing other than a couple of hares and a scrawny goat were discovered within a mile of the campsite. The decision was taken to leave the rest of the morning and hope for a clearer afternoon before venturing forth, but as it turned out after lunch, there was precious little to choose between the two halves of the day, so they remained by the fire, listening and waiting.

Nevertheless, Farrimond had found his way in with a chatty note from Harry – even though it was less than two days since he'd spoken face-to-face with Hermione. Luna was very interested in what the Boy Who Lived had to say, and re-read the message several times until she practically wore out the parchment, and teatime was announced before she let it go. But though the message was out of her grasp, the memory of it was not.

"He's quite diligent with his studies isn't he?" she said thoughtfully. "All those hours of practice with his wand."

Hermione – who doubted that Harry had truly carried out a fraction of the training he'd claimed in his letter – cringed at Mr Lovegood's sudden frown. "Oh?" she said quickly, "has he got a wand now then? It must be his mum's he's borrowed I should think. Yes, that must be it. She probably lent it to him to try out a few safe spells."

"I'd like to meet him one day; he's important you know," continued Luna as if Hermione hadn't spoken at all.

Luna took a sip at her mug of hot water in which floated a rather small, insignificant turnip. "I mean, someone who can vanquish a dark wizard when they're still a baby would have enormous possibilities as a grownup, don't you think?" She jabbed viciously at her swede with a spoon and after the vegetable had released a few bubbles, it sank.

The wand of Mr Lovegood, which was embedded at an angle in the loose stones, gave a twitch much like a fishing rod responding to an inquisitive fish. Hermione halfheartedly watched Xeno spill his Gurdyroot as he dived down to decipher the movements and feel the soft vibrations with practised fingers. Well she knew that the Snorkacks' thick, hairy, enchanted coats would conceal them beyond most magic unless they were close enough to be heard chomping leaves anyway.

"Lemming! Well that was worth waiting for at any rate!" whispered Mr Lovegood, happily settling back in his canvas chair and blinking confusedly at his almost-empty mug.

Hermione wriggled her toes a little nearer the fire's warmth and considered that the passage of a suicidal rat half a mile away had not been worth the day's tedium, let alone the cold and damp that was beginning to seep into her bones. The temptation to wandlessly cast a warming charm was fighting caution within her. She'd give it another hour then visit the tent to hide the steamy, rosy glow that was visible as the spell was cast. But what about Luna? Was she cold? She gave no indication of it if she was. Hermione sighed out a long cloud of steam; she was used to all-round central heating, that was the difference.

"I think he's preparing for something," mused the other girl in her faraway, dreamy voice. "Perhaps there'll be more war. Ever since I was little I wanted to marry a mighty hero when I grow up. He'll be big and strong. The ground will shake at his approach. Enemies will flee sore afraid – yet not I. I will meet his gaze fearlessly and he will fall to his knees and adore me instantly."

Hermione barely suppressed laughing at the seven-year-old. She was good fun but how was she to include Luna within her circle of friends if the girl might inform her father about their wands? In a moment of alarm, Hermione feared her plans for togetherness would never work: herself with an adult intellect and Luna with that strange fuddled brilliance – yet she also recalled how, in her other life, she'd grown to gradually accept the strange girl for what she was, and not for what one was supposed to be.

Such brooding must have caused Hermione to display a range of emotions, for Luna said, "You're thinking again, aren't you? Are you doubting if the Crumple-horn is real? If Erasmus imagined it? Don't worry, Daddy says it's real."

"Oh, the beast is real alright," smiled Hermione.

Far too close to the end of the afternoon, the sky finally and grudgingly lightened in the direction of the valley. Yet still no colour relieved the grey day, and even later, when the veiled sun had finally descended below the treetops, its pallid ambience remained silvery, casting only vague, exaggerated shadows of branches onto the haze while here and there, a stone finch mistily silhouetted as large as a turkey, and the dark outline of a grubbing shrew nosed up as high as a kangaroo – much to Luna's amusement.

But the shadow-puppet entertainment was over in minutes, within another hour or so, darkness had put a starless lid on the camp, and the unenthusiastic mood was only eased by the dancing flames around which the explorers huddled.

In these first days of August, and close by peaks of legend, there occurred many similar queer pre-twilights during which Hermione's primeval instincts imagined mythical creatures awakening, greedy for their share of the twenty-four hours: hobgoblins, ogres, grinning skeletal yeti and other nightmarish creatures of the mind all crept and creeped through her imagination. What the Lovegoods contemplated, she could not tell. Xeno sat quietly gazing, else absently stirring the fire with an extended, unreaching forefinger, while Luna might hum or softly sing to herself, as if content whatever her surroundings.

"And we only watch and wait?" murmured Xeno occasionally, which often startled Hermione despite the softness of his voice.

"They will come to us," she always answered, with a cryptic addition, "Only then does the real search begin."

.

Eaves Drop

"Harry, does Aunt Hestia want these pulling up, do you know?" Neville gazed at the clumps of trailing blooms. "I think it's spiny amaranth but some call it pigweed and chuck it out. Watch your fingers on the thorns – see?"

"Best to leave it alone if we're not sure," replied Harry. "What about these shield-shaped leaves?"

"Knotweed – they'll need a spell to properly get rid of them. We can wear ourselves out tugging them up all day but they just come back."

Harry examined his sore, stained palms dolefully then rubbed his hands down his jeans. "Come on, let's have a rest. I'll show you my poop deck where I watch for pirates and sea monsters and that."

Neville didn't need much persuading. The sun beautifully illumined the colours of the court garden at Grimmauld Place – and yes, it was a pleasure to see – but over an hour of weeding was enough for any young boy, especially when there were buccaneers to be fought.

The outbuilding next to the house had an extensive lean-to abutting it which was not too high to climb and its tiles did not slope very steeply. "Hand me up the grog and ship's biscuits, Mister Bos'n," Harry called down.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n." From his stance on a wobbly-lidded rain butt, Neville swung up the bag of plundered pumpkin juice and chocolate cookies to Harry's waiting grasp, then he struggled up by the side of his friend.

"Look you can see Saint Terence spire on the port bow," said Harry, pointing. He twisted for a while with a tight cork before he could successfully swallow a big mouthful of juice. He gave out a long happy sigh after. "And on a good day up in the crow's nest you can even see the great white whale breachin' on top of Saint Paul's – look I'll show you."

Harry stood his bottle in the gutter then, hands on the adjacent outhouse wall, he sidestepped up to the highest part of the lean-to roof.

"Do you really think we ought to?" said Neville rather nervously. "It looks awfully high and steep."

"If we crawl up to the middle its safe and you can get the best view." He hoisted himself up but his friend hung back.

"Come on, Neville," encouraged Harry, then added with a sly grin, "Look, Hermione's out fighting dangerous beasts on the other side of the world. She'd have leapt up here like a hot cat by now – probably reading a book at the same time."

That did it. With a fumble and a grumble, Neville wriggled up onto the outhouse. Harry was already straddling the top of the roof and galloping his 'steed' towards the house. Neville followed more shakily like an apprehensive inchworm.

When Harry reached the back wall of the main house, he used it to steady himself as he rose to a standing position and dramatically pointed south. "Thar she blows!"

But as he'd swung up his arm he became overbalanced. He fingered uselessly at the bricks then stumbled clumsily to fall on his backside. With nothing to grip, he slid in fits and starts lower and lower down the acutely-sloping tiles towards the edge.

"Hang on, Harry!" cried Neville, jumping up and running along the ridge of the roof to where he squirmed as far as he could on his belly and reached for Harry's outstretched hand.

Too late. With a yelp, Harry skidded down another body length then stopped, his feet protruding beyond the gutter and his hands trying to flat-grip the roof tiles. Open-mouthed, Neville could only watch and wait as his friend slid away over the...

A puzzled look crossed Harry's face as he wiggled his feet and stared back up at Neville. "It's solid below." He began to ease himself slowly down.

"Don't, Harry!"

"It's okay. It's stone. Top of a window I think. No, wait... wall trim jutting out all the way along. It's a petrified sea serpent, Mister Bos'n, but I daresay I can skip along its spine – I've walked many a narrower plank a'fore this!"

"Harry!"

"Get along with ye, Master Neville. Splice the mainbrace. I'll join you on the fo'c's'le a'fore six bells unless the beast awakes!"

" _I thought that was the poop deck two minutes ago..._ " muttered Neville, but as he worked back along the ridge, a glance behind showed him that his friend wasn't going anywhere.

"Harry? ... Cap'n?"

Harry waved him on. He had his head on one side as if listening. From the open window below came the faint sound of voices.

" _But she's so strange."_ Hestia's hesitant voice. " _Almost as if she's... deranged."_

Sirius replied, " _That's what worries me too. But it's extra protection for Harry – she promised that."_

 _"So... she'll die? You're certain?"_

 _"Yes, I'm afraid so – there's no other way out of it."_

There was a long pause during which a cloud drifted past the sun, casting a moving shadow through the garden. Harry shuddered.

 _"When then?"_

 _"Hogwarts, the first year when Harry starts. It's the only opportunity, and Dumbledore will be there to make sure everything goes according to plan."_

Harry strained to hear more but only the distant hum of traffic and the chatter of birds was to be heard. He edged his way to the end of the wall where the outhouse roof began. He was startled by Neville leaning out around the corner with an outstretched arm.

"Grab my hand, Harry!" cried Neville. "I'll guide you."

The assistance wasn't critical but it did help and Harry muttered his breathless thanks, his mind still racing at the conversation he had overheard.

"What is it, Harry?"

"It's... Hermione..."

"What about her?"

Harry retrieved his pumpkin juice bottle while he fretted over the unthinkable words he had overheard. "Nothing. Just worried about her."

"She'll be fine! You said yourself she can battle monsters!"

"Yeah – yeah, you're right. Brave as a Gryffindor and twice as–" Harry glanced up at the higher roof, then looked thoughtfully at Neville. He hadn't forgotten the service of his most senior officer.

"What?" said Neville.

"All hands on deck, Mister Bos'n! There's a ceremony to perform!"

Neville shouted as he climbed down after Harry who was already scampering down the garden, "What ceremony?"

But Harry was selecting the neatest, medal-sized, Knotweed leaf he could find, and a spine from the amaranth which he used to pin it to Neville's chest.

"As commander of the good ship Black Bones, it is my duty, nay my honour, to award you, Bos'n Neville Longbottom, for heroic valour in sprinting recklessly and without thought for self across the main spar during a heavy gale to rescue your captain from falling to his certain death at the hands of a deadly sea serpent, this, the Empire's highest award, and to promote your good self to the office of First Mate. I salute you, sir."

.

Second Sight

By the end of the Lovegood expedition's second week, the mists enshrouding the mountains had mostly cleared, and several forays had been made to the area around the camp in search of spoor. A single hoofprint of the right type encouraged Hermione, even though she knew it was old, for it confirmed she was in the correct region learnt from an excursion in her former life. She reassured Mr Lovegood, spirits were raised, and on return to the campsite, the man adjusted the direction of his angled wand more precisely.

Meanwhile, with more of a view now visible, and a reasonable light from the west, Luna had pulled out her sketchbook and black pencils then quickly shaded in a few impressions of the stunty, disfigured trees. Although no more than a few blocked-in lines, she had, with a wave of her father's spare wand, created a shimmering motion of leaves that quite impressed Hermione.

"So, you learnt to do that from your mum?"

"Yes, she's done hundreds of magical illustrations for Daddy."

"We were together at Hogwarts, Pandora and I," explained Xeno, as he leaned back in his seat with a faraway smile in his eyes. "Childhood sweethearts from an early age. Meetings were quite an adventure. I was downstairs in Hufflepuff you see; Pandora was always the clever one in the top tower."

"I want to be in Ravenclaw like Mummy when I go to Hogwarts," declared Luna, with a final flourish to complete her current handiwork. "We'll be together, you and I," she added with a smile, which startled Hermione who had not considered the possibility of any house other than Gryffindor. What if Luna was correct? Hermione watched her turn to a fresh page and look about for a new landscape. Luna finally decided on a snowy summit to her right.

In that way, four days later, the little blonde girl accidentally made a discovery which startled Hermione when she viewed it later. This particular day had been a misty one again, and Luna had already captured the shadowy outline of a magnified pigeon with her pencil, as well as a few other blurry shapes that fluttered or shifted or hopped according to how she cast her mother's bewitchment upon the page.

"What's that huge shadow? Whatever's that!" declared Hermione when she examined the finished work.

"A wild sheep – it only showed for a moment in front of that dead bush so I had to hurry."

"It's not, you know," Hermione said softly, and she gazed out through the woodland as the sky was darkening, and the mist thickening, and a cautious note of change was brought with it too. "When did you draw that?"

"Oh, a couple of hours ago. They're only for fun – and to guide Mummy when we get home."

"Point me. Where, Luna? Where did you see it?"

Xeno's interest had become aroused by Hermione's tone, and he stood up as his daughter waved her finger down through the trees to the left.

"Wait here." Hermione ran down the slope, becoming immaterial as she gained distance into the thin mist, but avoiding clipping too much into the trees.

"What are you doing! Come back here!" shouted Mr Lovegood, then added to his daughter, "What is she doing?"

"I think she wanted to look at my sheep but it's gone."

A little further and Hermione was invisible, ghosting rapidly forward through rocks and rises before the light failed. The tracks were unmistakable – she'd studied the imprints of Snorkacks intensively and knew them so well. A couple of sniffs confirmed her suspicions – she could smell their distinctive magical essence. "Drat!" she whispered to herself. _If only it wasn't getting so late!_

She made her way back to the campsite on foot for the last half, heading for the approaching wand lights which had just appeared. "Ho!" she called softly.

"Ho, yourself, young lady! What d'you mean by running off? I promised your parents I'd look out for you."

"Please douse your light, Mr Lovegood, Luna. They've gone further down now but they won't like to glimpse anything unusual."

The lights stopped moving. Then disappeared. "Who won't?" said Mr Lovegood, then he added more softly as she drew nearer, " _What_ won't?" The tone of Xeno's voice made it clear he already knew. So did his expression as his features came into Hermione's view.

She said, "At least three or four Snorkacks passed by further down. That was not an enlarged sheep you drew, Luna – nor was that a branch beyond its head. The light wasn't right for exaggerating their size. The Snorkack really is that large – bigger than a bison and five times more shaggy."

Back at the camp, Xeno examined Luna's drawing. "Are you sure? How in Merlin's name can you tell anything from that shapeless impression? Luna, while it's fresh in your mind, fetch another pad and try to remember any more detail."

Luna raced happily off to the tent but Hermione shook her head. "It's not so much the shape but the movement. Luna has exactly captured the back and forth lunge and sway of a Snorkack – it's like no other large quadruped."

"You've seen moving images before? How could you have? Erasmus Darwin was a fine wizard but his wife was a Muggle as was his grandson, Charles. His books were non-magical and published by Muggles. I never even heard of the title your father quoted in his letter."

"The volume I borrowed had been the personal copy of Erasmus with illustrations by Fuseli, but someone had charmed the images in that one book – almost certainly Erasmus himself or someone under his supervision. It was another member of the Darwin family who, reluctantly, loaned me the unpublished edition from their vaults; it has always been an embarrassment to them. The image of the Common Snorkack was finely-drawn and its movements closely resemble that you see before you in Luna's sketchpad."

Hermione pulled out her own notepad and began thumbing through it, but she didn't need any written description because she could so clearly visualise the motion. "Here... _the muscle groups flow forward at the shoulders as the creature leans its weight into–_ "

"What was that? On that earlier page?"

Hermione looked up at Mr Lovegood's expression. "They're just my scribblings."

"A column of dates. I saw a list of–" He pulled the book away from Hermione.

"Hey! They're my personal notes!"

But Mr Lovegood had found what he was looking for and said excitedly, "These dates – they're sightings aren't they? But you said..."

Hermione sighed and tried to pluck the notepad back. "It's nothing important."

Xeno swung away with the book. "Luna!" – she was just emerging from the tent – "What is significant about these dates?"

Inwardly, Hermione groaned. Mr Lovegood had been too clever for his own good.

Luna spent no more than half a minute looking at the list. "I can't see anything special about the dates but the spacings between them are all multiples of seven – oh, 1771 and 1778 were about when Mr Darwin was alive." She tilted her head as if working something out. "And _this_ year, 1988, is also another that would fit that spacing."

"A seven-year cycle! What does it mean?" Mr Lovegood was deep in thought, almost forgetting that Hermione was there – then he remembered her. "These are not just common Snorkack sightings are they!"

"They can't be sightings, Daddy," said Luna, as she handed the book back to her father. "Look, 2058 hasn't happened yet."

The eyes of Mr Lovegood widened for several seconds but then something strange happened as Hermione looked deeply into them. "That's right," he said dazedly, "they can't be sightings." The book fell from his limp grasp and he stumbled away to fill a saucepan with water.

"Sorry, Luna," said Hermione, as she retrieved the notebook, "but it's too dangerous for you to know."

"You're going to use the Imperious curse on me too, aren't you?" Luna said quite mournfully.

Hermione gasped, shaking her head. How much had Luna realised? "No, Luna," she began as gently as she could, "that was just a little forgetfulness and a tiny suggestion; your dad had no right to take my notes nor to show them to you."

"He gets excited sometimes." Luna sighed. "Might I ask one thing first? Oh, and one request?"

"You won't remember the answer or even the question."

"But this me will know now, won't I?"

Hermione nodded. "For a few moments."

"Make the suggestion something nice, please," Luna said. Then, more solemnly, she asked her question. "It's not just Snorkacks and me you're here for is it?"

"No, Luna, it's not just Snorkacks – but I am definitely here for you as well."

Luna stared at her friend then her face brightened. "A list of numbered Christmas presents! How lovely!" She skipped away to join her father. "It was only a list of Christmas gifts after all, Daddy! Just think! Planning ahead so far!"

"That's right," murmured Xeno with his happy smile of realisation reflected in the pan. "Gifts... for Christmas! Let me show you how to peel potatoes with a new spell, Luna, it's safer than knives any day, and more fun too – you can make them dance."

Luna's laughter chimed musically around the hillside but Hermione was saddened. _What have I become? Manipulating friends when it suits me? Controlling their beliefs and memories?_ Her reason understood the necessity, but her heart would not listen.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I've just seen Dan Radcliffe's first audition footage on Youtube. He looks about ten years old and so polite and full of life, and so brave and eager to please I couldn't help but think that's closer to how I see Harry Potter in this chapter at age eight._ :)

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	16. 0:The Beast Within

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and family (Sirius & Hestia,) but her scheme of recruiting proven experts to root out Ministry corruption fell apart so she must manage the rest of her plans alone. With the Lovegoods, she has gone in search of a Snorkack – but why? Meanwhile, Harry overheard about a death due in his first year at Hogwarts and is worried it might be Hermione. Now read on... _

.

 **Chapter 16**

 **The Beast Within**

* * *

.

The Secret of the Crumple-horn

September was almost upon the little expedition before the Snorkacks were finally detected – slightly further down and along the incline than Hermione's nearest X marker on the map. Farrimond's magical senses had made the discovery as he winged into camp with a message from home, and he wasted no time before telling Hermione using the toy picture blocks she always spread out if the owl was trying to communicate. The animal picture could only mean one thing.

"Mr Lovegood! Luna! I think Farrimond has found them!"

Up jumped Xenophilius, anxious to rush off through the woods. "Which way! Which way!"

But before setting out, Luna made a big fuss of Farrimond's cleverness and left the flap of her tepee open so the bird could enjoy the treats and bacon rind she'd spread out in the warm interior. Despite Xeno's impatience, Luna refused to budge until Farrimond was refreshed, rested, and ready to guide them.

Despite their proximity, stealth and caution were critical so it still took a while to approach anywhere near the herd of creatures, and nor could much of the beasts' magic be detected even then. As Hermione had predicted, only faint sounds of foraging revealed the presence of the creatures. Once Xeno knew exactly where they were and managed to creep within a hundred paces or so, then his wand could detect a trace of their outlines. Now he could cast a direct spell to let the humans see through the magical camouflage concealing the beasts.

" _By Merlin!_ "

The faint gasp of delight had escaped Mr Lovegood's lips when he first clapped eyes on the creatures and the excited whispering exchanged between himself and his daughter were mostly incoherent. But Hermione was disappointed to see that the herd was quite small – no more than thirteen or fourteen adults. Still, at least there were also a few wide-eyed youngsters which was encouraging.

Xeno pointed out each detail to Luna and explained his observations and conclusions as they made notes together. The mature Snorkacks had proportionally small eyes and ears but their massive bulk was protected by a shaggy purple coat that hung down almost to the ground like a very hairy giant yak or small mammoth – but with a neck longer than a llama's. The single greyish horns of these common Snorkacks were slightly upturned curves, and most jutted out over two feet in length from their brow. Xeno's own neck seemed to stretch as he craned and twisted to see as much as possible, so absorbed was he.

"Take care not to get too close," cautioned Hermione, keeping well behind the other two.

"Do not concern yourself, young lady, the Snorkack is a gentle herbivore," replied Mr Lovegood, casting a smile back over his shoulder that was meant to reassure her.

Hermione turned away and muttered, "So is a rogue bull elephant or an angry rhino." But now the Lovegoods were so fully distracted from her, Hermione's mind was already moving beyond the herd to where she hoped the real prey might be found.

While Xeno busied himself setting up his special cameras, Luna found a spot beside a sturdy tree where she could begin sketching and making colour notes for her mother. She rolled up her sleeves, sucked thoughtfully on a pencil until her tongue was black, then decided to begin with some of the front end of the slowest Snorkack and draw part of the rear when it caught up a second or two later.

While they were preoccupied, Hermione moved a few steps quietly further back before charming herself invisible and immaterial then sweeping down through the herd unnoticed.

The scrubby, well-trodden turf was what interested her as she scouted beyond the grazing animals. She dare not be gone long else either Luna or her father would eventually notice her absence. If they started shouting they might stampede the herd.

Hermione's attention was everywhere at once, but predominantly on the semi-frozen ground, searching for tracks.

 _Where are you? Where are you?_

There were too many hoofprints obscuring the ones she was looking for, and several minutes passed with increasing anxiety as she moved further down the slope. But the ground here was even more deeply trampled, and she soon found the reason why. A long shallow mud pool – not really a true swamp – carried just enough surface water for the creatures to drink. They must have come this way on their approach, for the ground was churned up hopelessly, obscuring what she sought.

Yet it was the ooze itself which revealed Hermione's quarry. On the far edge of the mire, a flicker of movement caught her eye, no more than a tiny vertical patch of slimy muck inching across the boggy land, but it was enough. Fixing her gaze on the spot, she saw nothing for long minutes – time she could not spare – then, abruptly, a little mud twitched. The motion had been barely an ankle turn and a repositioned hoof, but the fresh filth caught upon it had been visible for a few moments before it was absorbed within the magical concealment.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Hermione set to work. Stunning spells and the like would have no effect on this beast, she well knew. Drifting silently closer, her soft incantations soon focused on the creature's simple mind and persuaded the animal that it was sleepy. The ritual didn't take long; a depression appearing on the bank of the pool revealed exactly where the Snorkack lay – but this was not one of the common variety.

Hermione had her own spells for seeing through the brute's magical camouflage once she had its precise outline and had moved within a few paces. Once visible, there was no longer any doubt. The crumpled horn gave it away, of course, collapsed, distorted, and withered-looking, yet the bony protrusion was still an impressive three feet in length. The poor beast must have been the original leader of the herd, but the alpha's own might and raw magical authority was also its undoing.

She would need all her own powers now, so was forced to relinquish her invisibility and immateriality. From her pocket she took an empty potions vial, and flipped open its hinged cap. Reaching forward she placed the tip of her wand upon the base of the horn where it adjoined the skull between, but slightly above, the side-slanted eyes, both of which were now closed. She drew breath to cast a spell, then held it back and listened carefully instead to the woods around her – someone or something was watching her from behind. Fear was the tiniest jolt on her heart. Normally she would respond instantly to an enemy but out here? In this wilderness? And with the distraction of the task in hand? She steadied herself...

As she spun around a voice said, "What on the Great Last Flight are you doing, Mistress?"

Hermione Granger did not often swear but her low, muttered oath almost split the tree upon which perched the intruder. "Aculus! Why are _you_ here of all places! I almost fainted with shock!"

"Come to report as usual, of course. You know I can always find you."

"Now is not a good time. I'm in a desperate hurry."

"Oh well then..." The bird fluttered its wings as if preparing to fly away.

"Tell me."

"The Weasley twins have... shall we say, 'progressed'? They are dealing with their younger brother more considerately at any rate. How his disposition might be affected, only time will tell. I've eased off my treatment and wish to reaffirm my request that I now stop harassing them completely. That is my solemn advice."

"Is that it? You've flown all this way to tell me this? Just as I was about to...?" Hermione paused in thought. "You're getting back at me aren't you!"

"Oh, are you doing something important then?" said the raven with his head on one side examining a talon. A soft clucking came from the bird's throat.

Hermione growled. "Watch and you'll find out!"

Turning her back on the distraction, Hermione replaced the tip of her wand on the crumpled horn's root. " _Accio hirudo._ "

The pull on her wand was instantly noticeable and she gripped it more firmly, fighting against the drag which threatened to twist it from her hand.

" _Accio hirudo,_ " she repeated, trying to brace her feet in the slippery mud.

Her wand tip was drawn very slowly but irresistibly aside towards the left eye. Hermione grimaced. She'd planned to raise the eyelid first – remembering when she'd done this before in her former life, way in the future. _No matter,_ she told herself, _The force of the summoning charm will find a way._

A swelling of the eyelid showed her that progress was being made. The bulge extended itself down until – for a moment it almost seemed to Hermione as if the Snorkack was awakening because its eye opened a tiny crack. Entranced, she watched the long eyelashes flicker up, being pushed by other fine hair-like structures which moved independently, searching by touch for any surface to feather themselves forward.

The body of a slender, thread-like worm emerged with a multitude of squirming filaments sticking straight out on opposite sides, much like a silvery millipede with arms instead of legs. Hermione shuddered as the end of her wand pulled it clear, still twisting and writhing pitifully, yet unable to escape the summoning charm.

Quickly she pushed the creature into the open vial and snapped it shut – adding a locking spell for good measure. Holding it at arms length, she watched the curious leech coil and wriggle to no avail. Luna would probably think it was beautiful but Hermione cast an obscuring spell and the glass became opaque. She knew it would hibernate for another seven years unless she let it see the light again.

After moving a few feet away from the Snorkack, Hermione gently teased the animal half awake with a spell. "Sorry, old girl, but your horn will never recover," she murmured. "Blame the parasite that was leeching on your magic." She shook the tiny bottle to emphasise the real culprit before slipping it into a pocket. A sleepy snort from the Snorkack was all the thanks she got for her trouble. The animal would be dozy for quite a while before it got to its feet again, but at least it would not lose the remains of its magical protection and be easy, slow-moving prey for wolves.

Sadly she restored its camouflage then turned away. _Poor thing._ The rest of the common pack would never allow a Crumple-horn to rejoin them; the great beast was doomed to forever live alone on the edge of the herd, an outcast from its own kind.

"So it's a magic-leech!" cried Aculus. "Well, keep that deadly maggot well away from me then," said Aculus. "Destroy it before you have an accident and it escapes."

"This one is of no danger to anyone except common Snorkacks," said Hermione. "It lays a few, sexless eggs underground, hibernates in the soil for seven years – living off the magic it has previously gorged on – then emerges to invade another Snorkack if it can. With luck it will lay eggs in the vial before it drifts off into its long sleep."

"But why keep it?"

"Muggles have a scientific discipline called biogenetics which I studied and practised when I lived amongst them. I saved many lives by altering the behaviour of living cells – Mike Worthing was one such."

"And now you plan to kill using the same technique!" screeched the raven. "I knew it! You intend to erase magic from the world completely!"

"Calm yourself, Aculus. If you think so poorly of me then you do not know what I am like at all. Don't you suppose I have agonised over this before I made my decision? The eggs will be modified so the eventual adults will feast only on human magic then die. They do so because whereas a Snorkack has huge reserves of what might be called 'dumb' magic like giants have, useful mostly for heavy shielding and camouflage, wizard magic is much finer and more delicate. Within minutes, the leech will exhaust what is available then start on the magical core. An hour or so later – depending on the person – the magic will never replenish, so the leech dies."

"Too risky! Too dangerous!" The raven hopped side to side on its branch. "How can you be so sure it won't spawn more of its kind and spread around the world!"

"Because I've already done this and comprehend its limits well! Tried, tested, and confirmed. My only concern is with handling the individual worms and that is why I shall be taking great care and might never reveal the secret – that needs more thought."

"But–!"

"Listen, listen to me! These creatures have been around for millions of years. They have never evolved to prey on anything but large, slow, and stupid creatures like Snorkacks. Even if one of my modified worms escaped and by dumb luck found a man unconscious in a field, it would take only his small reservoir of magic then die, straining for more. Even if it could survive – which it can't – it will never leave its host to lay eggs until it has absorbed a huge amount of raw magic – which humans never possess. Witches and wizards have powerful magic of the finest quality, but _magicae hirudo_ needs bulk quantity not quality."

Aculus released a very human sigh. "Occasionally I wonder why I was called to serve you, Mistress. At times you seem both ruthless and reckless."

"I do what I must!" snapped Hermione, biting her lip at the accusation – which she knew was not far from the truth. "Would you rather that dark magic be preserved to torture and kill? To so drain and pervert magical society that we cannot function efficiently? Do not turn your guilty face away from me, raven! You cannot hide from your _own_ recklessness if you take the easy path. I choose to do what is right!"

The raven took flight, and Hermione was left alone in the woods to ponder her actions as she trudged back up the steep hill. But though her chosen route was not without great effort, she well knew that did not guarantee it was the correct one.

.

Together

After rejoining the Lovegoods, Hermione felt slightly miffed they hadn't even noticed she'd been gone for well over half an hour, so absorbed were they in observing the other Snorkacks. Yet she was glad of it too for she wouldn't have to explain her absence to a worried Mr Lovegood. She approached them quietly but with enough huffing and puffing that they would hear her and not be startled.

"I'm not sure but I think I may have heard another down there on its own," she breathed. "What if it's a Crumple-horn? Erasmus did say they are usually reclusive and dwell on the outskirts of the main herd of common Snorkacks."

Xeno almost dropped his best camera but for the strap tangled round one elbow. Luna's eyes popped wide as saucers and she said in a loud whisper, "Where was it, Hermione!"

Hermione led them down to the watering hole, keeping that boggy wallow between themselves and the Crumple-horn's position. She whispered, "I'm sure I heard sounds over there on the other side, but I couldn't see anything for a while – then a little bit of mud moved, I'm sure of it!"

Xeno's wand was all a tremble as he cast his revealing charm, and his face lit up with delighted astonishment as the animal appeared. Luna took hold of his hand and they simply looked for a long time. The scene was their Jurassic moment – a long-held dream become reality. The Crumple-horn was majestically hoisting itself back up onto its legs, none the worse for wear. The splendid creature took no notice of the motionless humans on the other side of the mire and turned to browse the nearest foliage, expertly tilting the higher branches with its imposing horn so it could reach the most succulent leaves.

Hermione watched the man and his daughter whispering contentedly together. They seemed in no hurry to begin capturing images. Mr Lovegood slowly lowered himself down to sit upon the nearest angled tree trunk and Luna sat upon his knee, both observing a great natural mystery with wonder spread across their faces. Happy, for once, to be forgotten, Hermione ghosted silently away up the trail to secure her own prize and owl her parents; the child in her was feeling homesick.

.

Death in the Family

After two more weeks of study, the expedition members watched sadly as the Snorkacks departed to find new ground to graze. The last they saw of them was the Crumple-horn trailing dejectedly after the main herd. Nevertheless, the safari was judged a great success. Mr Lovegood in particular was extremely elated and could hardly wait to begin composing the headline for the next issue of The Quibbler. Likewise, Luna hoped to include some of her best sketches, and hoped there would be time for her mother to paint a full-colour rendition of the Crumple-horn.

"Wait till the _Daily Prophet_ sees our scoop!" cried Xenophilius. " _Crowmore's Column_ will have to eat its own words! How dare he call me an old goat after this!"

Luna patted his hand. "You're not an old goat, Daddy," she said quite firmly.

Hermione knew it was unlikely the _Prophet_ would ever retract any of their accusations and fabrications but nevertheless, back home in October, curled up in an armchair, she was surprised to find herself reading a grudging acknowledgement halfway down the third page of the newspaper, even if it was pompously diluted:

 _The bounds of our credibility needed dangerously extending,_ began the article, _after reading that a little-known periodical has (possibly) provided evidence of an unknown magical species._ And so it went on in the same tone until delegated to page fifteen so it could be overshadowed by a larger subheading about a mere burglary in Diagon Alley, with the loss of two pairs of secondhand boots and an umbrella. Hermione made a face and turned again to the letter she had received that morning from Mrs Lovegood but had been diverted from by the arrival of the news.

 _My Dear Miss Hermione,_

 _I cannot stop thanking you enough for all you have done. My Xenophilius walks around much elevated in mood these days thanks to you, and nor is The Quibbler's increased circulation insignificant!_

 _Luna also sends her love and what she calls a footnote below. I trust you know what she means because I gave up years ago!_

Hermione laughed aloud at the sweet little sketch of a foot drawn by her friend next to a beating heart, then she continued with the letter:

 _Now, Xeno and I have agreed that while they are in mourning it would be more considerate to delay the introduction to the Weasleys he promised you. But Luna is bouncing to..._

Hermione blinked in disbelief and read the sentence again. Disbelief turned to shock. She had not misread the statement; the Weasleys were...

"What tickled your funny bone then?" said Mrs Granger as she walked in from the kitchen with tea and a plate of hot buttered scones. "Is that Mrs Lovegood's letter you're giggling at?" She placed the tray down on the coffee table then looked up and saw Hermione's anguished expression. "Why, whatever's the matter?"

Hermione shook her head, unable to speak yet. Mrs Granger took the letter from her and quickly scanned down it. "Do you know these people? The Weasleys? I think I've heard you mention them before haven't you?"

Her nine-year-old was staring into space now and slowly nodding. "I was married to their son..."

Mrs Granger's eyes rolled white in shock and her mouth gulped for more air. "Wh–! You were–? Uuhhh...!"

But Hermione continued, "What if... what if it's Ron! ... Or Ginny! Oh, no! ... Or–?"

She shrieked in horror and leapt out of her chair. Tea and scones, mother and letter, all were scattered aside as she dashed for the backdoor.

" _HERMIONE!_ " Mrs Granger ran after her daughter. "Where are you going!"

The young girl had almost reached the great larch and her arms were outstretched up towards its branches. "Aculus! Aculus! Are you there? I'm sorry – I take it all back! Everything! Please speak to me!"

The hum of distant road traffic and the whisper of rustling leaves were the only sounds that framed the silence for several seconds and then...

"So you have learnt remorse for your sins at last, Mistress? Alas, too late. What is done is done. You cannot undo so severe a meddling in the lives of others."

Hermione began sniffling and, leaning against the tree, she sank slowly down to her knees. "Was it... both of them? Fred and George?"

"Of course. I drove them equally right to the end. Young Ronald is finally free of their domination."

With a wail, Hermione turned to her mother who had approached with caution, and clung to her bitterly, sobbing and trembling. Mrs Granger stroked her hair. "Hermione, Hermione..." she crooned softly.

"It's ironic in a way," continued Aculus, "for Ron to be separated from his brothers only a few months after they began treating him more thoughtfully. Still, time passes swiftly and his own time will come soon enough."

"When is the funeral?" Hermione asked tearfully.

Aculus tilted his head and the tiny black eye blinked several times. "The funeral? Why, the funeral was over a week ago – I thought you knew."

"But I only came back from Sweden last week! Oh, what have I done! What have I done!" whimpered Hermione.

"Your mind is confused, Mistress. That event does not affect your purpose in anyway. You succeeded in your aims," said Aculus. "You insisted that I–"

"I know. I know," moaned Hermione.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Oh, how can you be so callous."

"Callous?" The raven hopped down a branch to where he could more clearly see Hermione's expression. "You mean about the burial? I didn't realise you would be so affected. The end was gruesome but–"

"DON'T TELL ME!" Hermione clapped her hands over her ears – then removed them. "No, you'd better tell me. Do not spare me."

"You don't know? I thought you must have read about it in your newspaper. Torn apart by horses. Everyone–"

Mrs Granger's scream was quickly stifled, and she kept her hand tight over her mouth.

Aculus continued, "Everyone pretended it was an accident of course, but..."

"What? How? What do you mean 'by horses'? How?" said Hermione.

"Well that's the question. Mr Prewett knew his horses alright; he wasn't the sort to panic teams of Shires in opposite directions with his arms entwined in the reins."

Hermione rubbed at her eyes. "Mr Prewett?"

"Yes, Mrs Weasley's Uncle Ignatius. His sudden death has deeply upset her."

For a while, Hermione tried to speak but her mouth didn't form the words coherently. "Wh...? Can't...? Is...?" Finally she managed to gasp one syllable, " _Twins?_ "

"What of them?" said Aculus.

"You said Ron was free of them, separated from them..."

"Free of their domination, I said – as you intended. And to be separated after a few months, of course." If a raven could frown in puzzlement then Aculus would be doing so now. "When they go to Hogwarts next year, of course."

"Next year! That's it? Fred and George go to Hogwarts next year! Damn you, Aculus! I double take back everything I ever gave back!" And Hermione stomped off to the house.

Aculus looked at Mrs Granger and stuttered, "What by Flight did I...? did she...? How...? Wh...?"

"I don't know, erm... _Aculus_ , is it?" said Anne, whose face sported a blank stare. _I'm talking to a friggin' bird in my garden._ "Sorry, I'll uuh... speak to her." And with eyes darting about in fear of nosy neighbours, she swept off to the house too. "I'll get back to you on that," she called over her shoulder as if she chatted with ravens every day of the week.

She found Hermione muttering over her log book in the living room and scrabbling forward through the pages. "I'm sure I made a note!"

"What is it?"

"I must get to Hogwarts before the twins. I didn't realise it was so close."

"But it's not until next... what, September? Almost a year!"

Hermione stopped scuffling frantically in her book. "Of course. That's right. Plenty of time to plan it out. I can go at Christmas – no, in the spring – no, during next year's summer hols! It's that damn bird mixing me up again! I can't think straight!"

"Hermione, it was simply a misunderstanding on your part. You should cool off and then apologise to... the... mmm... little bird in the garden."

She busied herself with normality – picking up scones and cups off the carpet – then went to make a fresh pot of tea. Hermione, meanwhile, had retrieved Mrs Lovegood's letter once more and was looking to see how far she'd read:

 _...they are in mourning ... it would be more considerate to delay until Christmas the introduction to the Weasleys that he promised you. But Luna is bouncing to play with you again and also to meet your Harry Potter and won't let me rest until I ask you how tall he is. I think she's taken a shine to the boy._

Hermione tried to clear her head. The near-ghostly thoughts of Fred and George were still occupying her attention and it was hard to concentrate on anything else.

 _I do hope there will be an opportunity; Luna is rather isolated outside Ottery._

There was a pause while Hermione, unable to process what she was reading, simply listened to her mother working in the kitchen. The familiar background sounds relaxed her, slowing her cascading thoughts until she could think more clearly. _Mrs Lovegood is hinting for me to invite Luna here. And to meet Harry. Right..._

The problem of the trainer wands remained. It was so annoying! Luna had innocently promised to inform her father of any children using illegal wands. Hermione did not want to form a wedge between Mr Lovegood and his daughter but she was also determined to bring Luna into her growing circle of friendship – a group of all the people she knew she could rely on. She'd have to have a word with Harry to keep his wand well hidden and warn him that Luna was quite a fan of his, perhaps even...

Hermione lifted up the letter again.

 _Hoping to hear from you soon,_

 _Pandora Lovegood_

Below the signature was Luna's heart – it was actually pulsing when she examined it more closely! The footprint too, though static, was excellently-drawn and quite fun – for a few moments only. Then Hermione recognised the muddy imprint of the sole pattern. It was her own, one of those where she'd stepped in the ooze beside the Crumple-horn to get the leech.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Now, you've all been reading too fast so you've almost caught me up! At this time, I only have one-and-a-half scenes already drafted for next week's chapter so likely I may have to publish every 10 days or even fortnightly after this. I mean, I know what's going to happen between now and Hogwarts but it all depends on my muse for the actual words. If she pours them out as quickly as she did with Painting the Sky then I'll type them in till my fingers bleed to keep up. I know I can do it because I did with Chary Potter but be prepared anyway – if no chapter next Sunday then it should only be a few days late and so on. Hopefully it won't happen._

 _The paleontologist's allusion to herbivores being 'safe' always made me smile in Jurassic Park, as if being a herbivore means an animal is 'tame' – what about King Kong, eh? eh?_ :)

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	17. 0:Run And Hyde Park

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and family (Sirius & Hestia,) and with the Lovegoods, discovered the Crumple-horned Snorkack from which she extracted a strange parasite. Luna wishes to meet Harry, who, meanwhile, has overheard about a death due in his first year at Hogwarts and is worried it might be Hermione. Now read on... _

.

 **Chapter 17**

 **Run And Hyde Park**

* * *

.

The Non-Magical Event

A couple of weeks were needed for Hermione to think of a wandless, non-magical meeting between Harry and Luna and herself when they could divert their interests elsewhere for an entertaining evening. She was catching up with the Muggle news one evening while her parents, as usual, were sat watching _Emmerdale Farm_ on the television. The answer to her problem was right there on the front page of the _London Evening Standard_ that Hermione was reading. Hyde Park's management team were introducing an annual 'Winter Wonderland' beginning on the first Saturday in November, and this year that coincided with Guy Fawkes Night so would start with a spectacular fireworks display and a huge bonfire, then continue right through to Christmas with funfair rides, an ice rink, ice sculptures, varied restaurants, bars, markets, and other enjoyments. Harry and Luna would be so immersed in the Muggle festivities, they certainly wouldn't be talking about trainer wands!

The young girl frowned. She'd just had a faint recollection of the event in her former life but only remembered as an adult, not as a child in the eighties.

"Mum?"

"Mmm...?" Mrs Granger gaze was still far, far away in her favourite soap.

Hermione considered for a few more moments then murmured, " _Nothing._ " She wrinkled her nose and pulled a wry smile. How could her mum possibly know! _Think, Hermione, think!_

Traces of an even older memory had come back to her but she could not quite remember clearly... _Regulations – that was it, something about changes to firework legislation – but what?_ In vain she struggled to remember...

 _Ah yes, hadn't some stupid kids brought their own fireworks into the park and had an accident?_ She nodded to herself; subsequent years had been cancelled and it was only resumed sometime in the twenty-first century.

Mr Granger sighed as _Emmerdale_ came to a satisfying conclusion. "Right, who's for a cuppa? Hermione?"

The young girl rolled her eyes and the kettle filled itself with water and switched on in the kitchen. The family listened lazily to the rattle of crockery.

"Ah... magic! What did we ever do without it?" smiled Mr Granger to his wife. "Now if we only had half a dozen more children, we need never work again!"

"Edward!"

.

Well Met By Moonlight

November was surprisingly clear and cold. Sirius and Hestia, accompanied by Harry, Apparated into the Grangers garden during the late afternoon of the fifth. The sun was already well below the next row of houses and casting long chimney shadows across the path.

Hermione squealed from the backdoor and Harry smiled inside, happily bracing himself as she ran towards him with arms outstretched. From within her eager embrace, he could just about see past her thick, fuzzy hair to examine the new friend she had told him about. Wearing a red knitted hat and mittens, the blonde girl was staring back at him with as much curiosity as he, yet her large bulging eyes conveyed the same dreamy attention one might give a nice book illustration. Her hair, which straggled right down to her waist, wafted out behind her as she came forward.

Hermione stood aside and watched Harry's expression.

"You do wear glasses," Luna said serenely with her head tilting over, examining the spectacles from below, and pointing bluntly with one woolly mitt. "There are those that say you don't. Do you keep them off sometimes? I think you look nicer with them on – they suit you."

"Uuh... yes," replied Harry, glancing hesitantly back at his mother, "and silvery-grey eyes like yours – for a bit of a disguise, you see. But it's secret so that's why nobody's sure."

Luna's mouth formed a big 'O' as she stepped closer. "Your eyes really are green! But you're not as tall as anyone might expect."

Harry pulled himself more upright. "I'm eight. I'm quite decently tall for eight, I'd say."

Luna gazed at him without speaking, seriously considering the matter.

Hermione cut through the soft chuckles from all round, "Luna, this is Mr and Mrs Black, Harry's parents. Sirius, Aunt Hestia, this is Luna Lovegood." Seeing Pandora emerge into the garden, she added, "And her mother, Mrs Pandora Lovegood."

Harry thought Mrs Lovegood looked _handsome!_ as well as rather interesting with her dark scarf and woolly gloves, and piercing colour-free eyes that peered out from under a tea-cosy hat to scrutinise everything new around her. They caught his gaze now and her attention made him feel warm despite the cold air.

"What do you think, Harry?" She waved her hands at herself. "Do I look like a Muggle?"

"Erm... I think so..."

He turned to Hermione who answered for him, "I'd suggest you shorten the coat to well above the ankles – almost to the knees, Mrs Lovegood – then you're perfect."

"Thank you, Hermione."

While the adults were getting acquainted, and gravitating slowly to the backdoor, Harry pulled Hermione aside. "I've been wanting to ask you some–" He became aware that Luna had been forgotten and was on her own, gazing around at the neighbouring gardens as far as she could. Was she really disappointed in his stature? Was the girl being stand-offish or simply polite? Harry hadn't made his mind up about her yet, but for the moment he decided she looked lost. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Will Luna be one of us? Is that what you meant before when you owled me about her? She'll be In our circle of friends?"

"Definitely," said Hermione.

"Good," Harry heard himself say, and nodded as if his agreement had only just occurred to him and he was still enjoying the flavour of it. "What about secrets? You know... special secrets?"

"Most of them, bit by bit – but remember, nothing about the wands yet."

"Right. She's quite... unusual, though. Is she alright?"

"She stood by you through thick and thin in your other life – and saved you at least twice, one of them during a big battle – saved me as well, actually."

Harry was staring at Hermione, adjusting to the enormity of what she had said so casually. "So, I... I owe her my life?"

"And she owes you hers – but she doesn't know it."

"Wow," he said very softly. "This is better than pirates. This is real."

There was a soft whoosh in the next street as an early rocket shot skywards midst a stream of sparks, and Harry became aware that the sky had quite darkened in the west with the moon already silently hanging there as if observing them. Luna was jumping up and down with excitement and waving at the firework's curving glory. With three loud cracks it burst high overhead into slowly-descending colours to herald the commencement of bonfire night proper.

"Wow," Harry repeated, half to himself.

"Luna!" Hermione gestured for the other girl to come over. She did, her young, upturned face full of wonder, and expectancy, and delight at the prospects for the evening.

Harry clutched her gloved hand the moment she was within range and was surprised how tiny her fingers were inside the fluffy mitten. "We've got secrets bit by bit," he said seriously, "but we want you to be best friends with us first – is that alright?"

Luna's mouth gaped. Harry could see the almost-spent skyrocket still sparkling in her eyes.

Hermione smothered a wince at Harry's childishly-worded invitation but nodded her head vigorously in agreement with him. "You and I are already good friends, aren't we, Luna? But for really big secrets we all need to be really, really, big friends."

"Yes, like life-saving-type of friends," Harry added solemnly. He paused, looking at the girl and still holding her hand, trying to perceive that amazing virtue in her that Hermione had informed him of, and wondering about the immensity of his indebtedness to the girl as he waited for her answer.

"With all my heart I wish, more than anything in all of existence," began Luna, eyes now swimming with light and thinking out her words carefully as befitted such an historic and important promotion of her life, "to be best friends. Should I swear?"

"No, you don't need to for this," said Harry, asserting the authority of one who had already experienced the procedure.

Hermione very much wanted to see Luna's happy tears spill so she added, "It's what's in our hearts that matters."

Luna blinked little trickles of moonlight. Hermione smiled. So did Harry.

.

The Man in the Fire

Not wishing to break the Statute of Secrecy by suddenly appearing in the midst of a huge throng of Muggles, the entire party Apparated to Harry's home in Grimmauld Place then Flooed to a small block of public toilets in Hyde Park. Remembering a similar Ministry incursion in her former life, Hermione grimaced and held her breath when she arrived, but finding herself in a well-lit, neatly-tiled cubicle with a cheerful fireplace instead of a toilet, she chanced a sniff.

The delicious aroma of chestnuts roasting nearby drew her eagerly outside. Only a few hundred paces away stood a row of braziers where sausages, baked potatoes, and other hot snacks were also on offer. Other stall-holders were selling mugs of hot beverages, sparklers, grinning Guy Fawkes masks, Puritan hats, and even Harlequin masks and cloaks probably left over from the Halloween festivities the week before – all over-priced but adding to the festive atmosphere.

"Over here, you two," Sirius was already on the nearest path, surveying the lights across the park.

Hermione glanced behind her; Harry was emerging from the Floos which she now saw looked derelict from the outside and were heavily signposted, ' _OUT OF ORDER'_. A distinct tang of Muggle repelling charms was evident to her keen senses. The others soon joined them, Mr Granger spluttering ash as he came and Hestia quickly counting heads.

"And stay close, children," Hestia said, "no wandering away." She turned to Pandora. "Harry can be rather... venturesome at times. I think he often forgets we're here when he's intrigued by anything nearby." She sighed. "What about Luna?"

"Luna's the opposite: a mummy's girl – and a daddy's girl too. We'll have to gently push her out of the nest when it's time for Hogwarts."

While Hermione explained to her parents why they must resist the magical compulsion to move away from the area because if anyone became separated they'd all meet back here, Luna whispered to Harry, "She knows things, doesn't she?"

He nodded. "Those are the secrets I told you about and nobody must ever know except us. Promise?"

"I promise." Luna's head nodded. Quite a lot of times.

"Then the first thing is, thank you very much for saving me two times in a big battle. That must have been very brave of you."

Luna thought about that for a while as she walked along beside him. "I'm very happy if I saved you but I don't remember it – does that still count?"

"Yes, it still counts because you're still you. I'm the same – can't remember it, I think I mean. It's awfully confusing. Only Hermione understands and knows what happened."

Luna glanced around to see who was near, then whispered in Harry's ear so close that it tickled on the 'S's. " _Sss_ trange thing _Sss_ happened on our _Sss_ norkack _Sss_ afari."

"Like sometimes she's there but not really?"

Luna nodded very firmly. "And she can talk to her owl using pictures."

"I know – and that's not all, she can..." He decided not to mention the raven. "She can do different things but she says we should be cautious about what we can do. I mean she told me, suppose you had an invisibility cloak, you'd keep it secret wouldn't you, else everyone would know and they might reach out and grab you."

"Have you got a magic cloak?"

"No, I wish I did – but just suppose."

Again, Luna nodded. "I'd like a cloak of royal blue streaming twenty paces behind me one day and exotic jewellery fit for a queen with a solid-gold throne but Mummy says we can't afford real ones so I'm going to make my own – they don't have to be expensive jewels, you know, anything will do, flowers and suchlike."

Harry tried to imagine Luna with a daisy chain around her neck. "You're too young. Kings can chop your head off, you know, if you're too little to be queening for them."

"Oh." Luna dipped her head on side for a few moments as they walked. "No, I don't think that's so." She thought some more before conceding, "Well, I suppose they might. I'll have to be careful and only be a duchess or something. They don't chop heads of duchesses do they?"

"Come along, children," cried Hestia, and the group began to follow the thousands of people who were walking across the grass to get the best view of the night sky from the dark centre of the park. The Grangers were adding generous amounts of butter to the jacket potatoes they'd bought, and were handing them around. "No, keep your gloves on, they're really hot."

Hermione scurried to join Harry and Luna. "The display will be amazing, you wait and see!" she said excitedly. "Look!"

Far off to one side, parallel to their march, several huge bonfires were being lit in a row that pointed to and revealed the dark glittering waters of the Serpentine.

"Hurrah!" cried Luna. "Look, Mummy! They're... oh..."

"It's not a real man they're burning, Luna," said Hermione, "just a dummy dressed up in clothes and a funny mask – like those children are wearing too, see? That's Guy Fawkes. He plotted to burn down parliament, so every year, Muggles burn his effigies to celebrate the successful thwarting of the evil plan ."

"Like when Harry heroically vanquished You-know-who?" said Luna, "Hurrah! Hurrah! Burn Guy Fawkes's curs'ed jeans!"

While the adults roared with laughter, Harry squirmed a little, and busied himself salting his hot potato. He didn't much like the idea of anyone being killed, let alone...

A small orchestra struck up the rousing start of Haydn's Fire symphony across the lake and the crowd cheered. Mr Granger peered at his watch with the aid of a little keyring light. "Won't be too long now, just a few more minutes."

While they waited, Harry inched Hermione and Luna aside. "Hermione, I need to ask you a big secret but..." He leaned his head in Luna's direction. "It's about, you know... the _big_ secret."

"Right now?" Hermione stopped chomping her steaming spud, and looked up.

"Er... well it is important."

Something in his tone caused Hermione to lower her hot snack and wipe her mouth with the back of her glove. "What is it, Harry?"

"Well, uuh... it's about erm... memories..." Again he gestured towards Luna. "Is it alright if I...?"

With a nod and a frown, Hermione consented. This was not quite the occasion she had planned to reveal to Luna the truth about her previous life. "Harry means I see things, Luna. Things that haven't happened yet and might not."

"Oh, like my saving Harry's life!" said Luna in a stage whisper.

Hermione stared at Harry who looked a bit sheepish as he explained, "I had to thank her didn't I? I only said you see things."

With a sigh, Hermione said, "You might as well know, Luna, the things I see – they're really... well, they're like memories from the future."

"Exactly," said Harry, "and that's what I needed to ask. At Hogwarts, in your first year, you couldn't have died, could you?"

"Died? No, of course not. Why are you asking?"

"But did you nearly die? Did someone... did anyone try to... murder you?"

"Murder me?" Hermione was about to laugh, but then remembered. "Actually, yes, someone let a troll loose and it almost killed me."

Luna gaped in wonderment and beneath the shine on his spectacles, Harry's eyes widened. "And was it a lady troll?"

"Harry, what's this all about? What have you heard?"

"I bet it was a lady troll, was it?"

"Uuh... Harry, one troll is much like another, and I was too busy trying to–"

"It was! I know it was!"

Hermione threw her potato away and wiped her gloves together as best she could. "Harry, you must tell me what you've learned."

"Mum and Dad – they know about the troll. I heard–"

"Impossible."

"– I heard them saying it would kill you but they don't know you like I know you! You made the bad troll run away crying!"

Luna giggled.

Shaking her head slowly in disbelief, Hermione said, "No, Harry, I was the one cry–"

"And saved the whole school, that's what happened," said Harry, who wasn't listening at all while his imagination was working overtime. "You saved everyone! You saved..." – he paused – "you saved me, didn't you?"

" _NO!_!" Hermione glanced around but fortunately her cry had been swamped by the summit of the music's crescendo coupled with the approving roar of the multitude gathered there, and the first screeches, whizzes, and bangs as the pyrotechnics began.

Diverted, the young children's faces lit up as colours streaked the sky, and the park became wondrously illumined by its radiance. The organisers had prepared well and not the slightest pause diminished the swirls and rushes, cracks and crackles, nor the radiant tapestry of patterns shining not only across the sky but doubled – reflected on the glorious Serpentine's surface below.

A cacophony of squeals and shouts, waves of overlapping cheers, all raised the excitement. Harry and Luna were jumping up and down. Hermione – the not-completely-a-child – felt her mother's arm around her shoulder and glanced up at Mrs Granger's smiling face. But above her head, across the ever-changing fiery heavens, it seemed a strange, dark smoke was passing. Anne must have seen an alteration in her daughter's demeanour, for she too looked upward. Other faces too, tilted like a pale, slowly-moving wave to scrutinise the ominous cloud.

Abruptly, the surf broke, for several long moments, silence flooded the entire field then terrified screams crashed upon the ears of everyone there.

"The man on the fire!" shrieked Luna, pointing at the figure struggling to clamber out of the conflagration. Too late. The bonfire exploded, spraying those nearest with burning embers and flaming logs. Most macabre of all, a youngster in a dangerously-long Halloween cloak had caught ablaze and was running in circles, blinded by her own melting-plastic Guy Fawkes mask. Gruesomely cavorting amongst them, other masked arm-waving figures added to the general panic.

Uproar. Bedlam. Terror. Heaving, pushing groups were pressing in upon each other, unsure which way to run, for commotion could be heard and seen in every direction.

Sirius took charge. He'd wasted no more than a few seconds staring at the sinister black rainbow cloud which obscured and disfigured the shining firmament like a colossal thrusting claw. "Everyone to me! Hestia, I'll Apparate the Grangers straight home. You take Harry and Hermione and GO! Pandora, take–"

"Where's Hermione!" bellowed Mr Granger, wildly shoving people aside in his efforts to find her.

"TO THE FLOO INSTEAD!" shouted Sirius. "ALL MEET UP AT THE FLOO!"

Mrs Lovegood and Luna vanished with a loud crack that was smothered by the general pandemonium,.

"NO!" shouted Anne but she and her husband had already been seized and in only an instant of stomach-churning blackness, they found themselves once more at the public toilets. Both the Grangers immediately stumbled off in the direction of where they'd abandoned Hermione. Sirius was ahead of them, blocking the way.

"Stay here," he said, drawing out his wand, "I'll find her much faster than you can. And she's smart, she'll be heading this way. Wait for her here. She'll be badly frightened and will need you to be here."

Then he was gone.

.

The Battle by the Bonfires

Sirius was right; Hermione _was_ badly frightened yet had deliberately allowed herself to be swept away by a surge in the panicked crowd. Harlequin masks came in a variety of styles but those wide eye bands she'd glimpsed near the main bonfire reminded her far too unpleasantly of Death Eater masks. Were they stirring up the chaos? And was the swathe of cloud above inspired by the Dark Mark? A warning to Muggles?

As she ran through the commotion, she shot a quick look upwards. The mark was not fading or drifting like random smoke but had formed a black archway that...

Hermione stopped and stared hard, wondering why that reminded her of something she'd read...

"Aaaahhh!" The scream came from a man being flung backwards into the largest of the bonfires next to the lake. Instantly invisible, Hermione ripped a massive gout of water from the Serpentine and hurled it at the inferno. She could spare no time inspecting the flow of wet steaming logs that resulted nor the thunderous implosion of the lake's waters closing the deep whirlpool left behind. Immaterial now, she sped through frantic Muggles in the direction of the three masked forms who were scanning around to find a wizard who could have summoned such an unheard-of mass of water. The one on the left failed to dodge either of her two stunning spells and fell very badly across a bench hidden in shadow beside a concrete dumpster. Surprisingly fast for a tall man, the central figure ducked low and flung a killing curse through the legs of the scattering, wailing crowd towards the source of the jet of red light. But Hermione, already speeding straight through the green glow, angrily blasted him backwards at point blank range. CRACK! The remaining masked man Disapparated just in time to evade Hermione's slashing spell, else he'd have lost his potatoes.

A cursory glance at the big man's body indicated he was dead, back broken against the side of the heavy dumpster. Hermione summoned his mask and hood to one side. The bloodied, blond hair and muscular shoulders left no doubt.

"Thorfinn Rowle!" She'd spat the words out loudly without realising it, then growled her rage at the pointless deaths and suffering, "I wish you weren't dead. I just wish you weren't."

The noise of the crowd came back to her then. Still unseeable, she looked around. A group of valiant teenagers were helping the man from the remains of the flooded bonfire. One Muggle woman lay dead on the path behind Hermione, no doubt a victim of Rowle's uncaring curse. The young girl's shoulders sagged and she turned to inspect the masked form sprawled across the bench. There was just enough light to tell it was a woman, short and stocky with her breath still rattling in her wheezy lungs, and a wand still clutched limply between stubby fingers.

Hermione sensed some of the remaining crowd moving in, snatched the wand, grabbed the female's arm, and Disapparated – there could be only one destination for the likes of this dark witch. While Hermione rested for half a minute in the bell tower, her eyes fell upon the woman's mask. It was fuller than a typical Harlequin mask, being a wider black band that curved over her forehead and right down over her eyes and upper side cheeks. In contrast, the skin of her lower face was pallid, the mouth just as cruel and ungenerous as Hermione instantly remembered it.

Bracing herself against one of the remaining timber pillars that once support the bell structure, Hermione took deep breaths to calm herself. Sickening images of Neville's and Hannah's heads were forcing for attention in her thoughts but she knew she must master her emotions.

The mask she left in place while she completed her journey. Deep under the mountain, Carrow was deposited in a temporary receiving cell, and Hermione, not ready or prepared yet for her first inmate, pressed the rim of a potion vial between those vicious lips, unashamedly forced into that foul mouth the Draught of Living Death, then burst into tears.

.

Black is Black

There were still tears shining in Hermione's eyes when Sirius's revealing charm found her wandering in a curve roughly in the direction of Hyde Park's abandoned toilets only a few minutes later.

"Couldn't remember _'thactly_ where the Floo _wasth,_ " she sheepishly explained.

Sirius crouched down and gave her a big hug. "You're safe, that's all that matters. All this commotion is enough to scare anyone much older than you – nothing to be ashamed about."

He pulled a large handkerchief from his top pocket, and said soothingly, "Come on now, dry your eyes before we join the others. I don't suppose you want Harry to see you like this, eh?"

Hermione gave him a tearful smile and pretended to gather herself together with a deep breath. "You won't tell him what a _thsilly_ little baby I've been?"

"Of course not," grinned Sirius, "and you're not a baby at all. You're very brave. Most kids your age would have been bawling their eyes out."

Police sirens began wailing in the distance. Sirius murmured, "We'd better go."

Not long after they began walking, Mr and Mrs Granger dashed forward at Sirius's holler and greeted Hermione with open arms.

"We were so worried, darling," said her mother.

"Oh, it was nothing really," said the dry-eyed Hermione nonchalantly, and observing Sirius's encouraging wink, "I got dragged to one side of the park so it took me a bit longer to find the Floo. Is everybody alright?"

Harry and Luna met them as they all returned. He grinned to see Hermione safe and well. Luna looked more serious. "Did you see anything, Hermione? I have to report this to Daddy for The Quibbler."

"Now, now, Luna," said Sirius. "Hermione's–"

"It's alright, I don't mind," Hermione cut in quickly. "I saw some bad wizards in masks cast another man into a fire but some Muggle lads got him out in time. Then those wizards killed a woman with a green light and just disappeared."

Hermione's parents gasped but Luna had a notebook out and a tiny quill was writing in it. "Did you identify any of the villains? Who were they? What was their motive?"

Hermione shook her head but Pandora said scornfully, "They were members of the Black Arc is who they were. No doubt about that. The most scurrilous gang of hate-mongers since You-know-who's lot!" She turned to Sirius. "And we all know who's behind it, don't we?"

"We do not!" barked Sirius. "And that's the difficulty! Nobody knows who's directing them! Most of their own members don't know!"

"Bellatrix Black and your cursed brother to name the two most likely!"

"Pandora!" Sirius took her arm and drew her aside, hissing, "My brother made mistakes but was never a leader!"

"They're all Blacks at their head. All their recruits follow them without question! Rotten to the core, all of them – oh, present company excepted, of course." Pandora added hastily. "Sorry, Hestia. Sorry, Sirius." She looked around. "Sorry, Harry."

"I've told you before, Pandora, that Harry is still a Potter."

Pandora shook her head. "They won't see it that way, as you well know! _Magical_ adoption made him a Black. A change of name certificate from the Ministry is only paper."

"It means it's legal and therefore binding," insisted Sirius. "Enough of this. He's a Potter through and through!"

"Pandora, please – the children..." said Hestia.

Mrs Lovegood looked around at the pale, upturned faces and relented with a few nods of her head. "We must all leave. The Ministry will be here any moment if not already. Then there's the Muggle police. We don't want to have to explain ourselves to either of them. Come Luna."

With that, she and Luna walked towards the Floo entrance.

" 'Bye, Harry! 'Bye Hermione!" cried Luna, waving sadly.

"Goodbye, Luna!" called Harry.

Hermione ran up and gave her a hug, whispered in her ear that she would send Farrimond with a full report, said her goodbyes, then the Lovegoods were gone. One by one the others followed and soon all that remained of the drama was a silent derelict building of which Muggles never took any notice.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I had a late surge of inspiration and this chapter was finished just in time for my usual weekly delivery. I was afraid it might be mostly pithy filler but it's worked out much better than expected and is one of the better chapters, I think. It's been a rush so let me know if you see any bad errors. I've also made good progress on the next chapter so perhaps I might be able to catch up and get ahead again. We'll see._

 _In case any non-Brits are still confused, Guy Fawkes night (also known as Fireworks Night and as Bonfire Night) is celebrated ever year on 5th November in the UK. The Winter Wonderland annual event did not really begin until about 2007 but we know better now don't we? It really had a false start in 1988._ :)

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	18. 0:Devil's Deep

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and Luna at a much younger age and hopes to bring Ron and Ginny into their circle as soon as she can. Little Neville will be more difficult because he's girl-shy and envious of Harry and Hermione's close bond. Meanwhile, with Voldemort already dead, she is plotting to bring other dark wizards to her own form of justice. An incident at a firework display in Hyde Park provided her first opportunity. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 18**

 **Devil's Deep**

* * *

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Cover Up

"Hermione! How much longer are you going to be working up there!"

"Coming, Mum!"

A door opened and footsteps descended.

"You're driving yourself so hard it's probably illegal for a nine-year-old to do all those hours," complained Mrs Granger when Hermione finally walked into the living room and sagged down beside her father on the sofa. "What have you been doing these last few days? You look worn out."

"It's important, Mum."

"So are you." Mrs Granger sighed and began serving out helpings of shepherd's pie. "Anything we can do to help?"

"Not unless you have experience in law, biogenetics, dark magic, social engineering, and advanced potions and counter-potions."

"What!"

"Look, I know exactly what I'm doing but I have to work out certain things and apply it all over again. Which one's mine?"

"On the left. The plate in the middle is your dad's. Edward?"

"Mmm...? Right." Without taking his eyes off the television news he pulled a tray onto his knees and began absently forking food into his mouth. "She's off to visit to Reagen then," he munched cheerfully. "Don't know why she doesn't just marry him and be done with it."

"Who? The newsreader?" said Mrs Granger, sourly.

Hermione giggled. "You don't still fancy Anna Ford surely, Dad? She must be in her forties now!"

"Yes, but she's still got it."

"I wouldn't know yet, Dad – not until I get it again myself. Anyway, she'll be gone in a couple of years."

"Never!" cried Mr Granger, a forkful of pie halfway to his gaping mouth. "They can't get rid of Anna!"

"Margaret Thatcher, I meant," said Hermione, gesturing towards the Downing Street video that was showing on the box. "She'll resign."

"Are you serious?" said Mrs Granger. "But she's–"

"WAIT! WAIT! Turn it up, Dad!"

" _New safety precautions are to be tabled after last Saturday's incident at Hyde Park in which gangs of teenage hooligans were seen to throw a biscuit tin full of firecrackers and aerosol canisters directly onto a bonfire. Three people died from the resulting explosion and many more were injured. A huge wave caused by the sudden collapse into the Serpentine of masonry blocks fortunately swamped the flames and greatly reduced the risk of further accidents. The famous London venue – which the Metropolitan Police Commissioner informs us can never be made completely secure – now faces a permanent ban._ "

"Masonry blocks my aspidistra!" cried Mrs Granger. "There was no masonry anywhere near to– did you see any? No! And no hooligans either. Everyone was well-behaved. And what about the smoke mark in the sky? And you said there were dark wizards! How can the–?"

"Mum! Mum! The Ministry of Magic always hush up these things. It's to do with the Statute of Secrecy. They wipe and alter people's direct memories and change the evidence. The police would only hear confused accounts."

"That's disgraceful!"

"Better than telling them that real witches and wizards are attacking people with evil curses."

"Hermione's right," said Mr Granger. "There'd be complete chaos and fear and who knows where it would end? Witch hunts? No, I can't see any way that ordinary people would ever get along with magical society."

The trouble was, with the Cathesis League having died at its inception, neither did Hermione.

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The Trial of Alecto Carrow

Three weeks passed before Hermione fully emerged from the spare bedroom, reasonably satisfied with all her preparations to put Alecto Carrow on trial for her crimes. Even then her mother insisted she have a complete day of rest with plenty of sleep before proceeding with whatever she was up to. The young girl did not resist, grateful that she need not endure any further sense of guilt for prolonging her captive's present state – death. For such is what it was. The heart no longer beat, nor was breath drawn. No dreams were dreamt nor comforts known. Yet the body continued to age. The condition of Living Death then, was a slice of someone's life – good and bad – stolen forever.

With a sigh, Hermione packed her bag with all she required for the ordeal ahead, bid her parents goodbye, and with a loud pop, Disapparated to the bell tower. For a time she stood gazing out on the small German town's square, more to put off the task ahead than to recover from the lengthy Apparition. The early December morning was already stirring with Christmas shoppers. There was no snow to soften the scene, yet the mix of Victorian with post-medieval architecture and quaintly-tiled rooftops did seem appropriate for a festive card. A Santa-hatted man behind a market stall solemnly rang a hand bell like a town crier before he began his spiel. Hermione could almost hear the words, for many a call and greeting carried up to her on the crisp air – even one sad goodbye at the bus depot entrance.

Reminded of her duty, Hermione turned and was gone in blackness. So black and enduring was the long Apparition that the holding cell appeared cheery bright when it popped into view, yet she clutched her chest and spun about-face, forgetful in her arrival of exactly where she'd laid Carrow.

" _There you are, Sleeping Beauty,"_ she breathed out in relief. Indeed, the dark witch had not moved one hair from the position and posture in which Hermione had left her. There was an innocent stillness about the woman that the girl thought it a shame to despoil.

Before removing the semi-masque, Hermione examined it more carefully than she'd had time before. Pulling away the witch's hood revealed the high, Zorro-like mask to be a dark frontal cap pulled tightly back and downward over the sides of the cheek bones in front of the ears and thence tied behind the neck. With the high gap above Alecto's snouty nose, the effect from the front was a true black arc covering the eyes and the wearer's intentions both. A spell quickly drew it off into Hermione's bag next to the wand she'd taken from Carrow in the park; she'd no stomach for trophies but they might be a useful reference.

The complete face belonged to Alecto Carrow sure enough, and she was welcome to it, thought Hermione, wrinkling her nose in disgust. A careful search – both physical and magical – revealed nothing of consequence on the woman's person except for a small knife which quickly joined her wand and mask in the bag. An impression of Voldemort's Dark Mark still showed faintly on Carrow's left forearm but no newer sign replaced it.

"It's time..." Hermione muttered, steeling herself to be ready. There could be no turning back after this.

The vial at the top of her bag transformed Hermione once more into her alter ego: Adam Brown. The next little bottle was even more subtle: Wiggenweld Potion. After first casting a strong binding spell upon her prisoner, she forced a precise amount of the antidote between Carrow's bloated lips then leaned back to observe.

The woman lay on a rock slab of convenient length and height, low enough that as the big Adam, Hermione could comfortably look down upon the captive. A long wheezy intake of breath was the first indication of life; the second was an unrepeatable oath, then the woman stirred, felt the resistance of her bindings, and cursed again as her eyes opened to squint upwards.

"Who the bludgin' shifters are you!" The head twisted around a little. "Where in damnation is this!"

"You are in the court of Devil's Deep to face justice for your crimes. I am your prosecutor and your judge. They call me Adam Brown."

"Brown? Brown, you say? Choke yourself then, Brown, you clueless lump. Have you no idea who you are dealing with? You're meat now. Meat for carvin'. Where's Amycus!"

"Was that your brother who was with you in the park? The one who ran away and left you to die? Thought it might be," Adam said smoothly. Now the moment had arrived there was no longer any trepidation, only calm.

"Alecto Carrow, you are under arrest on suspicion of various crimes including the torture and murder of many."

"And you'll soon join 'em at my pleasure!" Carrow's arrogant eyes roved up and down, sizing Adam up. "The bigger they are, the more they squeal! The smaller the brain, the greater the pain!"

Adam ignored the threat; there was a lot to get through in the time available. "The Triapetit will be used to commence your trial, that is, you must choose three questions from a list of ten to be answered after imbibing Veritaserum."

"Tripe–what? You're no judge. This ain't no court. An' I needn't take Veritaserum – I know me rights."

"Rights? You have the right to ignore this, for one thing." Adam hovered a large sheet of parchment horizontally above her so she could read it easily. "But if you refuse to choose three, then Questions two, six, and seven will apply. You have ten minutes to decide."

Turning his back on her, Adam walked away, out of Carrow's restricted view, and kept very quiet.

"You've gone off your rocker, is what you've done! Stuff your questions! I ain't answering nothin' and you can't make me!"

A barrage of wild cursing followed for almost two minutes – then silence abruptly descended on the chamber. Adam knew Carrow was finally reading the list and he thought through it himself once more, hoping he'd chosen well:

 _1\. Are you using any measures to counteract or evade or misdirect the effects of Veritaserum?_

 _2\. In order of severity, and most serious first, what crimes have you committed?_

 _3\. How did you carry out your worst crimes?_

 _4\. What secrets must you hide from this court?_

 _5\. Who are your criminal associates?_

 _6\. What crimes have your criminal associates committed?_

 _7\. Who is the ultimate leader of the gang known as the Black Arc?_

 _8\. The court may show leniency. Have you any regrets or remorse for your crimes?_

 _9\. If you are released from custody, do you expect to commit further crimes?_

 _10\. Then exactly why do you deserve punishment?_

Listening intently, Adam could hear the woman muttering some of the words to herself so he'd a good idea when she was near the end.

"Jus' these?" wheezed Carrow.

"Only three of those are allowed under Veritaserum. I might still ask other questions without the truth potion but you will be free to lie or refuse to answer. However, you should be aware that I'll draw my own conclusions from your responses or lack thereof."

"And you have to stick to the three I choose?"

"Yes."

"And I go free if you've got no proof?"

"That's right."

Alecto smirked and went quickly over the list again. "One... seven... and ten!" she cackled.

Adam, who had already turned to observe her expression, froze in surprise. "Are you... sure? Check the numbers can change your mind."

Again, the woman cackled. "Got to do my three, don't you! Come on then, let's 'ave yer!"

She was still cackling with glee when Adam tipped three drops of the potion onto Alecto's eager tongue. He waited a minute or so then examined her eyes. The vacant stare was unmistakable. Besides, the first question would eliminate any doubt whatsoever:

"Alecto Carrow, are you using any measures to counteract or evade or misdirect the effects of Veritaserum?"

"No!" wheezed Alecto. Was there a hint of merriment in her tone?

Adam hesitated over the next question. Why had Carrow permitted this one?

"Who is the ultimate leader of the gang known as the Black Arc?"

The long wheezy expiration carried with it only two breathy syllables and a stark, stabbing punctuation, " _Haaaa–rrrreee_ – Black." There was insufficient air left for laughter but a dreadfully-prolonged coughing bout ensued giving Adam time to turn away, mind racing.

 _Harry? Harry Potter?_ Had the woman found a way around the serum's influence and was amusing herself? Or had the real leaders spread the belief amongst their lower supporters? Adam struggled against asking for a while – there was nothing to stop her except a strong moral compulsion – then resolved to stick with the plan. Only one question remained. It had intentionally appeared vaguely worded – enough to trap Carrow – while actually being quite explicit, but would the witch be compelled to answer it literally if she was too stupid to understand its true meaning? Perhaps emphasising might help:

"Then _exactly_ why do you deserve punishment?"

The cough dried up to several painful chest thrusts. The woman's amusement had instantly evaporated and for a few moments she appeared to be fighting the compulsion to answer – in vain:

"Because I tortured and murdered Freya Golbrun of eighteen Beswick Crescent and her disgusting Muggle brother Kyle."

"Because I helped my brother cook another Muggle, name of Bradley, till he split and juiced."

"Because me an' MacNair and a recruit I only knew as Rob, we made tunes hanging seven Muggles in a scale but I didn't care to know their names except they squirmed and squealed a nice song long enough for our entertainment then good riddance."

"Because I used my knife on–"

And on and on she condemned herself while Adam's quill flew across and down a confessional scroll damning Alecto Carrow to never see daylight again nor any mortal person save the one passing judgement on her soul right there.

When she had fully recovered from the truth potion, Carrow began hurling a stream of abuse once more at the big man, but in his deep voice he spoke over her curses. Whether she heard was not Adam's concern.

"Alecto Carrow, you have been found guilty of gross misuse of magic, multiple acts of torture, grievous bodily harm, and cold-blooded murder. You are hereby sentenced to lose your magic and serve a term no less than life in Azkaban Prison. Alternately, as an act of compassion, you may choose to serve out your days in a more humane confinement or else elect a merciful death. Do you wish to decide now?"

"... yer'll be ripped apart and sewn tergether with rusty needles, stripped an' scalded on a daily basis an' I'll be there laughin' 'n' giggling at yer, yer gret lump o' horse dung – but YOU won't be. Oh no! Yer'll scream like a baby for yer mama but yer ma'll be swinging by her toes over a vat of hungry rats leaping at her ugly slut face and–"

Carrow scarcely drew breath but continued her verbal abuse without pause while her face remained screwed up in a terrible fury. Only when Adam, wearing Herbology goggles, approached with a potion goblet and the genetically-modified _hirudo_ squirming on the end of a wand did she stiffen, cringe, and squeal in fright, "Wassat! _WASSAT!_ Keep it away from me!"

"It won't hurt or harm you physically. There's no pain at all. But you may drink this first if you wish. It's a Draught of Peace to relax and calm you."

" _NO! GET AWAY FROM ME! I DON'T WANT YOUR FILTHY POTION!_ " Carrow squirmed within her bonds and turned her mouth away as far as she could.

Adam sighed and carefully lowered the wand. "Are you refusing the tranquillity potion? It will make things easier for you – but it's your choice."

"Stuff it. Who the bludgerin' dog's doo are you anyway! Why 'you wearin' them goggles! You can't make me! You've no right! Don't you have any idea what they'll do on you when they find you out? They'll get me out of here soon enough!"

Adam replied, "I regret to tell you that likely they believe you're dead. Amycus saw your body break awkwardly over the bench. The Ministry only recovered Rowle's corpse but the Muggle authorities gathered up the rest of the dead. Since you've not returned, your accomplices will assume the worst."

Alecto fell silent for a moment, then turned her head back to stare at the big man beside her. "You're mad! Daft as a doormat! Wassup with yer eyes? What you goin' to do with me, eh? You can't keep me 'ere! You can't!"

"Not here – this is just a receiving cell. I told you: Azkaban. Or you can choose a more comfortable prison without Dementors. Your final choice is death. It's up to you."

A long wheezy cackle began the reply. "Azkaban? You can't. You're not the Ministry."

"Enough talk. Will you accept this Draught of Peace, yes or no?"

"I'll accept your tongue wriggling on a plate, is what I'll accept, you arrogant, pig-mouthed filth!"

"I'll take that as a 'no'. Bad choice."

Adam slipped the vial back into a pocket and, raising the wand once more, he leaned forward.

Carrow screamed as she once more caught sight of the _hirudo_ squirming on the tip of the wand. "What you got there! Keep it away!"

Adam's huge fist grabbed under Carrow's jaw and thrust up to hold her head still as he carefully moved the wand towards her face. Unable to utter aught but a muffled wail, the dark witch squeezed her eyes tight shut and squirmed vigorously.

"It you'd open your eyes it could get inside more easily," said Adam patiently, but Carrow only squirmed the more – so hard in fact, Adam was afraid she'd injure herself, but he couldn't stop now. Gently placing the writhing worm upon her left eyelid, he watched its multiple feelers probing below the edge of the lid, and the slithering, silvery body soon followed.

An awful animal noise was now coming from the terrified Carrow's throat, and Adam had to lean more of his weight onto her jaw to keep the woman steady. Finally, the swelling of the eyelid subsided as the creature squirmed its way around to the back of the eyeball.

"RELAX!" bellowed Adam, as he released her head and backed well away before removing his goggles. "The optic nerve lies within a tiny tunnel through the cranium. It's the only way in. The parasite will squeeze down it without harming you in the slightest. Once its proboscis tastes the brain, the worm will move between the back of your eyes and grind a shallow cavity in the bone so it can nest comfortably against the inside of your skull. You'll feel nothing, so stop worrying – it needs you to live."

A low-level, continuous gurgling, groaning wail rasped from between Carrow's lips, punctuated now and again by a high-pitched squeal. Had her mind snapped? Adam himself felt rather sick. It had not gone as well as hoped. A Snorkack scarcely noticed anything other than a momentary itching in the eye when the parasite first slipped under the lid. But then Carrow wasn't a Snorkack; she was a cowardly, stinking Slytherin.

As he waited through the next half hour, he studied the confessional scroll, at the names and incriminating testimony there, and wondered how others would take the treatment; it was only a bug after all. Repulsive yes, but a mere tickle and not even as uncomfortable as a visit to the dentist. Should the tranquiliser be enforced in future? Cruelty had not been the intention.

" _Why?"_ came the pathetic murmur. "What you do that for?"

Adam frowned. "If you'd listened instead of ranting you'd know! You've misused your magic and don't deserve to keep it. Can't you feel anything yet?"

The response was only a sullen silence for a while then a long, dreadful scream began... and finally tailed off to a pitiful whimper. Adam nodded to himself. A witch can feel her magic if she pays attention: its ups and downs, surges and strengths and... its gradual exhaustion when overworked. The loss through leeching must seem similar – but far, far worse.

"How long?"

"Perhaps another hour; it varies."

"No, you thick gargoyle, how long will it be gone for after that?"

Adam shook his head but did not reply.

"How long!"

"Don't worry about it. You'll not be able to use it in Azkaban anyway."

"There's no way you can do that." This time there was doubt in her tone.

"You'd better decide. I recommend the new prison, if you know what's good for you."

"What prison? Where? There ain't no such!"

"Devil's Deep! You're almost in it right now! This is one of the smaller receiving chambers but the cells are much nicer: plenty of space to move around, reasonable food, lots to read, and... no Dementors. Think about it."

"Read? You mean books? What for?"

Adam blanched a little in astonishment. "Everybody likes books."

"Talk. Nothin' like a good natter – better 'n a book any day. Who else is in this prison o' yours?"

"You've excluded yourself from all decent company. Your contempt for others makes you unfit to share your miserable life with anyone."

"No! There's plenty."

"You've never been in Azkaban, have you?" barked Adam. "Did you imagine you'd spend your time chatting with the other inmates? You might listen to them, yes. Hear their distant screams and moans and mad ramblings in the few periods when they're not dumb, deaf, and blind to everything but horror – curled up on the cold stone shaking with frightful visions. No, mostly you listen to your own worst fears crawling up your back day and night without respite or hope or purpose. Despair is your only company in that foul place. Is that your choice?"

Within her bonds, Alecto shuddered.

"Death then? Is that preferable? You've always lived a pointless existence, accomplished nothing worthwhile, progressed nowhere. Of what use have you ever been to anyone, even yourself? It would be a mercy to end your miserable life."

"I can't be on me own," Alecto finally murmured, half to herself.

"Be glad of a few living Muggles to talk to now, I expect? Sorry you killed so many decent conversationalists, right?"

"Never been on me own. Can't. Need to talk."

"Yet you've lived your life risking the loneliness of Azkaban at every step!" cried Adam. "You can't have believed you'd never be caught!"

"Can't read."

"Of course you can!"

"Can't read just to read... Don't want to... can't... live."

"It's your magic draining away. Making you feel depressed. That will pass."

Within the limits possible to her, Carrow shook her head from side to side. "Neither prison."

Adam blinked. "You mean...?"

"Who'll be executioner? You?"

The unexpected choice coming from the very first captive made Adam quail. "You can't be serious!"

"Do it. Before my magic's all gone."

"Doesn't work like that. All who request a merciful death are given one month's grace to provide an opportunity to reconsider."

Adam raised his hand and cast a detection spell. Carrow's magic was almost completely spent – and she had no wand.

"Finite," he said, and Carrows bindings fell away. Adam offered her no help as she struggled to sit up on the slab and look around. Pathos gave way to sullenness, and as the woman swung her legs over the edge of the block, a cruel vicious expression slowly replaced the sulk. Adam braced himself, then put his wand away.

Carrow eased herself up onto her feet, testing her strength, looking round at the holding cell-come-makeshift-courtroom. While gazing at the ceiling she nonchalantly sidestepped a little closer to Adam. He did not move away but busied himself replacing the scroll and ferreting around in the beaded bag.

With a screech of rage, Alecto hurled herself at Adam, one hand clawing towards his face, the other scrabbling in the pocket where she normally kept her little knife.

THUD!

The big man's fist jarred her head sideways and Carrow fell like a slop sack to lie whimpering upon the ground, one hand still weakly searching in her pocket.

"Looking for this?" Adam pulled his other hand out of the bag. In it was Carrow's little knife – the same one she'd used on– "The punch was for Neville and Hannah, you sickening excuse for a witch!"

"Who? Wha...? Yer ravin'! Think yer a gent, do yer, with all yer fancy talk? Hittin' a lady? Yer nothin'. NOTHING!" Carrow ranted on for a while, "Hittin' a lady? What rotten manners fer a big bloke! P'uh! Punchin' a woman in 'er face!"

Adam laughed. It was quite a girlish laugh. "Somehow, I have no problem with that whatsoever! Quite enjoyed it actually."

With one huge arm, he pulled the woman up to her feet then _off_ her feet. He held her there swaying like a sodden cloak for a few seconds, then they both dematerialised and were sweeping through the solid rock. Several empty caverns they sped through without stopping until at last they burst into a huge rock chamber with an enchanted blue sky, and a gentle, pleasantly-changing breeze carrying a variety of subtle fragrances to gratify the senses. Here, Adam dropped the woman, and she staggered away from him, rubbing her jaw.

"All the instructions and guidance you need to know is written at the front of the enchanted book you'll find over in that sleeping alcove you see there. After that, I suggest you try reading _The Count of Monte Cristo_ for starters – it might give you a new outlook on life. Not that it matters. I'll be back in one month, and then I will kill you."

With that, Adam was gone, and Alecto Carrow, former Death Eater and late member of the infamous Black Arc, was now an inmate of Devil's Deep, and utterly desolate.

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—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I've made good progress this last week so perhaps I can maintain the weekly publication of chapters. I know I've done it before but mostly it depends on inspiration and the flow of ideas. All I do then is write it down and fiddle about with it. STOP PRESS: Stats and reviews have been broken so I held this chapter back until they were fixed._

 _I don't directly do requests but I can be influenced by good feedback. There have been requests for more scenes with Harry/Hermione & family situations as well as for Harry/Luna. Well I do love Harry/Luna but obviously it can't happen in this story – but I do have other plans for Luna (no, it's not another Harry from an alternate universe!) As for scenes – they are written primarily to progress the story so I don't usually do Harry/Hermione scenes without a reason. However, it is their love story so I'll keep this in mind for opportunities, and anyway, they'll naturally be more together at Hogwarts._

 _Last chapter, Skye pointed out in a review that Luna was more neat and tidy in an old photo when her mother was still alive. Thanks, Skye. That makes sense and I wished I'd thought of it earlier but I'm not going back over published chapters to change it. Instead, I'll work it into future chapters because whereas her mother might let her be more of a free spirit when she was very young and at home, now Luna is growing up and going out into the world and making friends, her mother wishes her to be more presentable. Not that this will be too radical. Luna will still be Luna and I've not ruled out cork necklaces and bare feet on occasion! But for more formal meetings she will often be better groomed._

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	19. 0:New Companions

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and Luna at a much younger age and even though Voldemort is no more, she has started to bring other dark wizards to her own form of justice – Alecto Carrow was the first. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 19**

 **New Companions**

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Luna's Surprising Letter

At the end of November, Luna's owl arrived with an invitation. On an empty shelf beside her desk, Hermione tipped out a few treats for the bird and closed the window against the wintry weather while it recovered in the warmth for the flight home.

 _Dear Hermione!_

 _Daddy says Ginny's mum has agreed she can have a friend or two to stay over Christmas! Well, everyone knows that means three! I'm so excited! You'll love Ginny, she's so sweet and quiet! I want to be like her when I grow up but I have to keep my head and be a duchess or something instead. Mummy and Daddy will bring us and stop for dinner and perhaps tea as well before they go home. Merlin's ass knows what they'll do all on their own without me – but they said they'd manage and not to worry but just enjoy myself._

Hermione leaned back in her office chair and looked up at the ceiling of her headquarters, frowning. Luna never meant to be rude but she saw the world quite differently to everyone else. _Would the Weasleys be offended if three of us turn up for Christmas? It'll be a big family gathering after all, and none of them know Harry or me._ She continued reading:

 _Don't tell Harry yet as a surprise but I made him a nose ring for a present but Mummy says no, so I made it into a bouncy thing instead which Mum enchanted but I made it so it's from me. Don't you just LOVE Christmas with BEST friends!_

A warm feeling spread through Hermione and she giggled at the thought of Harry with a nose ring. He'd probably have worn it too, so as to be polite to Luna.

 _What Mister Sirius said to Mummy about Harry's surname – I think we'd better remember and be careful, then there won't be any upsets, especially about – you know what. Oh, I do hope so! And it won't be Harry's fault anyway, will it? What with all these Wrackspurts, people can be so strange at times. They don't think clearly, you know. I was wondering about Harry Potter knickers for Ginny but Mummy says (I think because of you know what,) they're not appropriate to give a nice girl. Would you like them instead? Or a book? Then you can read about his exploits. I know they're not real adventures but I like pretending like your lady troll. In my mind I imagine it really happening but with Harry saving you instead! Wouldn't that be so dreamy and idyllic and chivalrous?_

What did she mean about upsets, and Harry's fault? Hermione considered asking but if it was such a touchy subject perhaps she ought not to put anything in writing.

While she was pondering, Hermione watched until Luna's owl had finished the treats she'd spread out, then opened the window and let her out. A cold breeze made the young girl shudder and she quickly closed it again, watching through the glass as the bird winged away across the grey sky.

Hadn't Luna believed her tale about the troll? There had to be trust amongst friends – their lives would most likely depend upon it. _Mmm... perhaps it was outrageous to expect anyone to accept a troll attack in Hogwarts as a fact – quite sensible not to, actually. Yes, good for Luna!_ She'd have to convince her eventually, but for now, what else had her friend got to say?

 _Early in the new year I shall become eight and old enough to start at Beauxbatons in September or perhaps the year after when I'm nine. Mummy is taking me to visit to gain knowledge and experience so I can decide which school I wish to attend._

Hermione almost dropped the parchment. She read and re-read the paragraph to make sure she'd understood it correctly. Could this be true? In her former life, Pandora had died when Luna was nine. Had that event somehow changed Luna's choice? Or perhaps Luna had attended Beauxbatons prior to her mother's death and after that switched to Hogwarts when she was eleven so as to be closer to her father? If Pandora lived, would Luna not then be at Hogwarts!

With an anxious heart, Hermione picked up her quill... then lowered it again. What could she possibly say to Luna? That her mum was going to be killed? Again, Hermione picked up Luna's letter and read further...

 _Mummy also asked Professor Dumbledore if I could assess Hogwarts but he said no._

This time, Hermione _did_ drop the parchment – it fell from her unbelieving fingers, floated down to the carpet, and partly rolled itself back up into a scroll. Dumbledore had refused Luna a visit? Why? Many parents took their children before enrolling. _Had this happened before in my other life?_

Hermione began to pace up and down between the potions and equipment shelving but unconsciously so – her mind was thinking at a furious rate. So far, nothing in this new life she had seen was different except it could have been changed by one of two events: Riddle failing to make Horcruxes, and... herself being reborn. Was it possible that her acquainting herself with the Lovegoods might cause Luna to be sent to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts? Pandora was extremely intelligent. Hermione always had the impression she knew more than she was letting on. _Could it be she wants to keep Luna away from me without making it obvious and hurting my feelings?_ It seemed unlikely to Hermione, but she had to be sure.

Back at her desk she began writing in her log book. She must try to discover why Dumbledore had refused Luna a Hogwarts visit – might that have annoyed Pandora enough to look at alternatives? Which came first? Luna's message brushed against her ankle and she picked it up.

 _I'm so happy I can hardly write anymore so I'll say_ au revoir _(that's French!) and_ merci beaucoup _for everything which is changing my life._

 _Luna_

Hermione blinked. Had Luna already committed herself to learning the language of her new school? Didn't she want to be with her _best_ friends at Hogwarts? _Dumbledore said no... I'm so happy?_ It made no sense – but this was Luna and who could predict or comprehend how she thought? The question was, how much dare she ask the girl at Christmas? It was a long time until the September following that, and Hermione did need to make a visit to Hogwarts herself before then. Yes... plan, prepare, and proceed.

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The Big Box

The large crate labelled _CAUTION! LIVE ANIMALS!_ scarcely fitted within the confines of the bell tower where Hermione had just arrived. With the added burden, the Apparition had been more exhausting than usual so, after carefully examining the ventilation meshes were secure and not obstructed, she sat down tentatively on top of the big wooden box. But careful and quiet as she had been, the scratching and pattering of little clawed feet within was alarming. She waited for the creatures to settle then picked up the Daily Prophet she had brought to read on the way.

 _ANOTHER DIAGON ALLEY BREAK IN_

 _Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones meets today with shopkeepers to reassure them that there is no organised 'crime wave' to worry about but merely an occasional 'splash in a puddle'. We at the Daily Prophet are not so sure. Yesterday's theft of several quality cauldrons is the fifth break-and-entry in as many months._

 _INGLETON TO RESIGN BEFORE END OF YEAR_

 _Despite convincing evidence, growing suspicions concerning the Ministry Christmas party fund have finally caused Paul Ingleton to..._

Hermione sighed and riffled carelessly through the final pages of small shop adverts. _Solutions for Squibs,_ accompanied a beaming photo of a fat lady waving her wrist from which hung a charm bracelet. _Budget Brooms,_ showed a rather tatty broomstick flying high over the moon. _Garden of Eden_ headed a smiling photo of–!

A commotion from the box beneath Hermione did not distract from her delight! The picture was of the big man whose hair she'd filched from the barber's shop! What good fortune! She'd hoped to find him again without waiting for weeks in the hairdressing salon, for although she'd hundreds of hairs preserved, they wouldn't last forever, and she'd grown rather comfortable within her regular disguise. It felt strange to gaze at the photo of her alter ego resting back peacefully against a small tree behind his store and blowing little puffs of smoke from a long, elaborate pipe. Around the border of the quaintly-animated picture, tiny white flowers were budding, blooming, withering, then blossoming again repeatedly.

"HURRY UP!" came a high voice from the crate, startling Hermione into action. She ripped the page from the newspaper to check the shop address later and thrust it into a pocket of her man-size trousers before continuing the next stage of her Apparition...

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The Last of Alecto

Anticipating that a Devil's Deep prisoner might one day launch a surprise attack, Hermione had planned to always ease invisibly through the furthest rock face and survey a cell before revealing her presence to its inmate.

 _CRASH!_

Magically weakened by the burden, her dematerialised state was close to its limits, so to preserve her power she let the box slip the moment she came out from the rockface.

"WATCH IT!" cried the crate.

"Who's that!" Alecto Carrow came storming across. "Oh... you..."

"Who'd you expect?" said Adam Brown. He gestured towards the big container. "I've brought you a Christmas present."

Carrow stared disdainfully at the crate. More than a score of eyes stared back at her through the ventilation holes.

"I'm not stayin' 'ere," Carrow said flatly, ignoring the container after only a few moments. "I'll give you an address. But I want your word first. Fifty-thousand Galleons. Take me there."

Adam eyed the woman closely. Clearly she'd been rehearsing this over the last few weeks of solitude, but the address might be precious information.

"No deal, Carrow. You should–"

The stamping of a foot and a scream of rage echoed around the great cavern but Carrow still showed traces of a bruise on her face, and made no other move. "Damn you in hell for all eternity, Brown!"

"You should have answered questions eight and nine. A little remorse might have helped your cause but you've never shown any."

"I need to talk," said Carrow.

"Before you make your decision, you should let me open your present." Adam took out his wand and turned to the crate.

Carrow blinked, then gasped. "No, not that. I meant how often can we talk. There's no guards except you, is there, and you only come once a month! I need more talk than this you misbegotten lump!"

Adam shook his head very slowly and was about to remind her he'd never return after this one visit, then changed his mind. "That's why I've brought you company."

A wave of the wand and the crate opened out, releasing a colourful flock of parrots which, with a noisy flapping and squawking, flew up and around to inspect their new quarters. Only one blue and yellow bird remained upon the broken frame of the box, squinting and blinking around nervously.

"WHA–?"

"Show them kindness and you can teach them to talk – some already know a few words. Information is almost certainly in the enchanted book I provided; it has a huge section on both Muggle and magical zoology, pet-keeping, and so on."

Carrow's expression darkened. "You're mad!"

"I'll give you ten minutes to consider, and then I am going to execute you."

For a while, the only sound was the flapping of wings.

"Think you're up to it?" Carrow came closer and thrust out her chest, daring Adam. "Go on then, if you think you're hard enough!"

Without a flicker of emotion, Adam instantly pointed his wand. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

With a squeal of terror, Alecto leapt aside as the panels of the crate noisily exploded into splinters and the parrot that had remained perched thereon fell dead.

"Ten minutes," repeated Adam, remorselessly. He didn't mention that, unlike the others, this particular bird had been conjured.

Two minutes passed.

"There's talkin' in that book," Alecto finally said meekly. "It talks an' there's story people talkin'. I never heard nor even seen talkin' in books before. Illustrations too. That Monty Crisso..."

Adam was astounded. "You've never read fiction before?"

With a shake of her head, Alecto looked up at the parrots which were finding themselves perches in the craggy rock face up near the bright magical sky.

Seeing her interest, Adam said, "They're not ordinary parrots." His eyes searched for one bird more darkly-coloured than the others. "Hey, Tom!"

"SHUT YER FAT GOB!" squawked the parrot.

"See?" said Adam, "They're your sort of people."

"And they'll talk to _me?"_ said Alecto, in wonderment.

Adam nodded.

"Why'd you... why'd _you_ care?"

"Care?" said Adam, in some surprise, then his face twisted up by old memories and he thundered, "CARE? I don't give an arse about you or anyone like you, Carrow! The birds are only so I don't have your sanity on my conscience! All I care about are the hundreds of people who you'd torment and kill if you weren't permanently out of the way!"

"You don't know what I'd do! I might–"

" _I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU'D DO, YOU FOUL, LOATHSOME COCKROACH!"_ bellowed Adam, raising his wand and striding forward. "Time's up! Choose or I smudge you into nothing right now! The wand crackled and sparked ominously.

Carrow stumbled back a step or two, then began sniffling and weeping. "Sod off then, Brown. I don't need you. Nobody needs scum like you! I PREFER _RATS_ TO YOU. Birds is luxury." And she turned and strutted away.

Adam stared wonderingly after her one last time then, after vanishing the remains of the conjured bird and container, he sped away up through the mountain granite to breath deeply of the clean, pure air.

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The New Luna

Hermione looked on in surprise as the Lovegoods Apparated into the Grangers garden on the mildest Christmas morning for years. A smart new felt hat and dark green dress robes for Xenophilius, a well-presented Pandora in a pale coffee coat dress, but look at Luna! The straggly hair had been magically brushed out and now shone with a silky enchantment. Furthermore, Hermione noted, it was neatly trimmed back to shoulder blade length and secured on top by an Alice band. In a new, stylish red dress, the girl was hardly recognisable – and not a radish nor bottle cork in sight! Clearly Mrs Lovegood was intent on making a good impression.

Harry, with his own hair recently combed but already springing up tufts here and there, stepped forward from Hermione's side, hesitated for only a moment, then grasped Luna's nicely-manicured hand and gave it a squeeze of welcome. "You're super! This is going to be the best Christmas ever!" he said, and Luna giggled.

"You'll love Ginny's house!" she cried. "Mummy! Tell them about Ginny's house!"

Pandora laughed. "They'll see for themselves in a few minutes."

Still adjusting to her changed appearance, Hermione gave Luna a hug. "We're really looking forward to meeting the Weasleys. Thanks, Luna!" She turned to Xeno, "Thanks for getting us invited, Mr Lovegood."

"Not at all, not at all!" beamed the man.

The small group chattered for a minute or two. Hestia gave her son a tearful goodbye kiss. "Be a good boy, Harry! Remember to change your socks and pants tomorrow morning like I told you!"

"Oh, Mum!" cringed Harry, suddenly appearing very interested in kicking away a few twigs that lay on the feebly-sunlit path.

Mrs Granger gave Hermione a hug and a nod of understanding. Mr Granger and Sirius waved from the backdoor.

"Shall we, then?" said Pandora, holding out her hands which Luna and Hermione took, while Harry clung onto Xeno.

With a last few shouted goodbyes they were gone, and the garden felt very empty.

"First time he's been away from home at Christmas," Hestia said to Anne, biting her lip as they walked back to the house.

"He'll be fine," said Sirius. "They'll all be fine."

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Befriending the Weasleys

Mrs Weasley smiled as the guests Apparated into view, scattering several fat brown chickens that had been pecking their way around the yard. " 'Dorry! Xeno! You must get yourself a Floo connection one of these days! So much easier!"

Mr Lovegood muttered something about ash, but Pandora replied with a big wink, "Now, Molly, we've not all got high Ministry connections like the Weasleys!"

Mr Weasley snorted and grinned. "Good to see you again, Pandora! Ginny, say hello to Luna and her new friends."

"Hello," the little red-haired girl who'd been hiding behind his cloak said shyly.

"Merlin..." said Mrs Weasley, counting up the children, "you're all staying?"

Luna nodded with vigorous delight. "This is Hermione and Harry – we're _best_ friends!"

"Well, we'll fit you all in I dare say," said Mrs Weasley. "Come into the warm..." She led the way towards the backdoor of an impossibly tall, crooked home which appeared to be held up by magic. Luna clapped her hands and nudged Harry with a told-you-so in the ribs. Hermione laughed. Ginny held back behind her dad who was coming in last.

They were almost inside, Harry actually had one foot in the doorway, when Mrs Weasley whirled around and stared at him. "Did Luna say, 'Harry'?" Her smile had disappeared and she stepped forward to examine him more closely. Her eyes widened. "You're... Harry Black!"

"Everyone thinks that," said Harry with a grin, "but I'm not. I'm Harry Potter."

"But you're a Black now." A wand poked handily askew out of Mrs Weasley's flowery apron pocket – very close to her fingers...

"Molly..." Mr Weasley said quietly, gesturing towards the stove further inside the kitchen. "I think your stockpot's coming to the boil. Bill! Come and take our guests into the parlour."

Startled, Mrs Weasley half-turned to her husband. "But, Arthur..."

"It's not spoilt. I'll help you with it."

While Mr Weasley stood by the oven, softly talking with an arm around his wife, Bill, who Hermione had not noticed in the far corner, guided the visitors through the kitchen and into the living room. She stared at the book in his hand; he must be studying hard for his NEWTs this year. So young! Not a scar on his face. A thought occurred to her as they moved to the other room, would there not be a Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts? Wouldn't Bill meet Fleur this time around?

There was no time to pursue that concern; before her, exchanging greetings with the newcomers, were Ron and the twins – though Hermione's attention was entirely drawn to Charlie. _Oh, God, sweet Charlie, dear Charlie..._ Physically, she saw the youth now, but her mind forever beheld the man adamantly refusing to betray her hiding place – even when Macnair opened him up with a cruel severing curse. Charlie must have known that once his runes had safely concealed her, he himself could never escape. How she now yearned to pour out her gratitude as she'd never been able to before. Yet still she could not release that burden, not here, not now with this boy and his family looking on. _I must not cry. I must not cry..._

"Hermione? You're staring..." said Mrs Lovegood. She was looking very strangely at the young girl, and the clamour of greetings fell silent.

" _Thsorry_ I... erm... N-Not _usthed_ to _lotsth_ of p-people..." With an effort, Hermione dragged her eyes away from Charlie. "I'm Hermione G-Granger. I'm very _pleasthed_ to meet you all."

Harry stepped protectively forward half in front of her, rumpling his hair back from his forehead which, he'd found, usually distracted people. Quickly, laughter and other exchanges resumed and the chattering of separate groups overlapped one another. The Lovegoods gravitated to the kitchen door to view Molly. Bill had put his book down and was now demonstrating a glittery toy to Charlie: a painted wooden Snitch he was trying to hover.

Fred, who'd been trying to hide a plate of cherry cakes behind his back when surprised by the sudden arrival of the visitors, grinned at Hermione and Harry. "Well, I'm Fuf-Fuf-Fred and this is Juh-Juh-George, and over there is–"

George elbowed him. "What Fred means is, he's a prat and I'm George, and that's Ron. And, blimey, who're you? Are you–?"

"He is," said Fred, squinting hard to see the scar that had been partly uncovered by Harry's ruse. "Aren't you?" The question was more of a challenge.

"Aren't I what?" frowned Harry.

"Harry Black," chorused the twins. "Slayer of dark lords, master of the universe!"

"Oh, him," grinned Harry. "Well, yes, sort of. I'm Harry Potter."

"Cool!" they responded together, and while Fred celebrated by gulping down one of his cakes in a single mouthful, George continued, "And where's Loon–aaherm... Luna?" – he'd suddenly noticed Mr Lovegood stiffen at the kitchen doorway – "And who's this immaculate little blonde cherub you've brought instead?"

Luna giggled and had a swift answer. "Fame attracts fawning. I'm in disguise of course."

"Ah, the Crumbly creature you discovered," said Fred. "We read the article, saw the pictures, and bought the tee-shirts. We are now officially believers." He dropped to his knees with George and they bowed their heads in a worshipful manner. "Fruitcake?" offered Fred.

"You're making fun of me, aren't you?" said Luna sadly.

Despite the jibes, Hermione was quite relieved to hear the twins didn't sound broken in any obvious way. She turned to Ron who, at eight, was not yet taller than herself. "I bet we'll be in the _thsame_ year at _Hogwartsth_. I heard all the _Weasleysth_ get into Gryffindor. I'm hoping for Gryffindor too. Come and talk with _usth_." She scanned around for his sister. "Ginny too!" She held out her hands to them both.

Hermione guided all the children to the warm hearth from where she could see into the kitchen. Mr Weasley was apparently still comforting his wife. Pandora was also talking quietly to her. Mr Lovegood had kept this side of the doorway, wringing his felt hat in hand, wondering where to put it.

"It's since Uncle died," Ron explained in a whisper. "She thinks Aunt Lucretia – you know... well, Mum doesn't trust any Blacks now, and..."

"My parents are Blacks!" frowned Harry, propping his back against an armchair as he wriggled down cross-legged onto the carpet next to Hermione who was gawping with an undigested idea prompted by Ron's words.

 _Lucretia Prewett! Of course! I remember reading about her decades ago!_ she thought. _Really secretive! Born on the dark side of the Black family – some said never left it – when she was killed by that strange ex-Auror – what was her name?_ Hermione looked to the patterns in the hearthrug for inspiration. _Daggar–something! That was her! Big commotion because–_

"You're far away again, aren't you, Hermione?" said Luna, softly.

 _My God! It was the day I was petrified by the Basilisk in second year! I was reading about it in the Daily Prophet at breakfast. Dagg... Daggard, yes! The news of Lucretia's arrest during the night only made it in time for the back page._

Hermione struggled hard to piece it together. _Riddle's diary was... no, Ginny had stolen it back from Harry – that's right, and as we went upstairs he heard the voice in the pipes that Ron and I couldn't! That's when I realised the monster was probably a snake and... Oh. My. God! There was a much more sensational story breaking the next day! My petrification led to Hagrid's arrest and Dumbledore was removed from Hogwarts! I spent hours that summer catching up with the news. While interrogating Lucretia, Daggard claimed to have dodged Lucretia's killing curse from a concealed wand and Daggard's responding blast had accidentally killed Lucretia and damaged the wand beyond testing!_

"Hermione?" Harry and Luna exchanged glances.

 _Of course, the Hogwarts story and the fear of students being killed completely glossed over the rumours against Daggard and... There are no Horcruxes this time! No diary! No scandal! What if Daggard had taken advantage of the previous uproar about Hogwarts to quietly do away with one more Death Eater?_

"But that means–!"

"That means what?" said Harry. "Hermione you've gone really pale."

She looked around at the staring faces, trying to refocus on reality but losing the connection she'd been about to make in her mind. The grownups were now discussing dinner arrangements and the older boys were arguing about a Quidditch manoeuvre, Charlie snaking the wooden Snitch back and forth to emphasise a point.

"It's alright," Luna sagely explained to Ron and Ginny. "Hermione knows things."

"Whoa!" said Ron, "That's how Fred and George have been this last year – spooky trances! I heard Mum say it's caused by Pooh Bear tea when you're growing up. I reckon they're better now they're old. They used to be nasty pigs to Ginny and me."

"Oh, poor Ginny," reacted Harry.

Ginny turned away to watch the flames dancing in the fireplace. Her cheeks looked hot and rosy in the glow. Hermione examined the little girl more closely. She was cuddling a hand-knitted ragdoll on her lap – no doubt a gift from her mother that morning who'd enchanted it to smile at the girl when reassurance was needed. The moment did not seem suitable for recruiting a resistance fighter against the dark forces threatening the planet. But Hermione saw something worse: a real baby – Harry's child – bloodied and lifeless, and the adult Ginny's body laid with it. Harry had begun dying in that dreadful scene too. He _had_ loved Ginny – cared for her deeply at least. The loss of both his wife and newborn was the last straw heaped upon a crushing burden of guilt. Hermione braced herself. Who knew what the morrow would bring? Luna going to France? Neville further alienated by two more girls in the circle? And she might never see the Weasleys again, anyway! _Seize the moment!_

"Luna was right, I do know things," she said, allowing herself to get carried away with fervour. "Although we've just met, I know I can trust you all through thick and thin. And that is why I know I can give you secrets. But to do so we need to be best friends now, and not wait for years and years gradually getting together. Others too. We'll make a circle of comrades – all together! All for one and one for all!"

Harry and Luna nodded eagerly but Ron and Ginny looked wary and puzzled.

Hermione gushed onward blindly, driven by her inner vision and a sense of haste. "Ginny, you're younger but we won't leave you out, if that's what's worrying you. We need you with us."

Ginny bit her lip and hugged her dolly for comfort. "Ronnie?" she whimpered, "do I have to go away and live in _H'miney's_ house?"

Ron frowned at Hermione mistrustfully as he put an arm round his sister's shoulder and said, "No, you don't have to do nothing you don't want to, Ginny."

Harry whispered in Hermione's ear, "You're being a bit bossy again. You're scaring Ginny."

"But..." She saw he was right: pushing too hard for fear of failing, for fear of seeing too many precious friends dead yet again.

"What Hermione means," said Harry, "is we want to make friends so we can look after each other as we grow up. So we're together and can help one another – not only now but when we go to Hogwarts. And if there are any bad people we can stick together against them. And best of all, we can play and have fun together too. That's why we only want good people as friends like Luna and you, Ginny. And you too, Ron. Hermione does know things nobody else can see. That's how she knows we need to be best friends now without wasting time. And that's why Luna and I want it too. Luna's already your friend, isn't she, Ginny?"

Ginny nodded and whispered something with her head down.

Ron said, "She doesn't see Luna very much because of..." – his voice fell to a mumble – "...bus fares and things and..." His eyes flickered briefly at Mr Lovegood who had now put his hat back on inside out, and was standing on one leg. If Luna had followed Ron's glance to its target, she didn't show it.

Hermione drew a quick breath. She'd forgotten that while Mrs Weasley had accepted Luna, she'd never strongly encouraged Ginny's association with the girl nor her eccentric family. Hermione had also not considered that neither the Lovegoods nor the Weasleys had money to throw away on frequent trips.

Sudden inspiration lit up her expression. "Which reminds me..." She scrabbled deep into her beaded bag and spotted her bus pass squashed below the several training wands she still had. It was quite a plain ticket she'd just renewed for the coming new year. Dare she copy it? Her voice ran away with her before she could even consider. "I was given several free bus tickets by my Dad's friend, Adam – he owns a big gardening centre in London so he gets lots of erm... free stuff. I know they're not much but..."

Making a mental note to replace them later with real ones, she pulled out four tickets and handed one each to Luna, Ginny, Ron, and Harry.

Luna examined her pass and squealed with delight. "Ginny! We can play whenever we want now!"

Ron blinked. "This is... 1989... Whoa! I can go and watch Chudley thrash Wimbourne in January and...!" He waved his ticket in the air. "These are for the whole of next year!"

"Oh, are they?" murmured Hermione. She let Harry peek at the trainer wands in her bag and they nodded some secret arrangement at each other.

"Yeah, thanks a lot!" Ron's delighted eyes remained fixed upon his ticket as if he was afraid it would fade away. "Say 'thank you', Ginny."

"Thank you," Ginny whispered shyly.

"So..." began Harry, looking round, "Hands up all those want to be best friends so we can look out for each other."

Ron's hand shot up. Harry and Hermione raised their hands too. Luna, who had been gazing at the ceiling for the past minute, did too.

"Ginny?" whispered Ron. "We're all going to be friends now, okay?"

"Okay." Coyly she raised her hand.

"Good," said Harry. "One of the first secrets I wish to share is HUGE." He looked at Hermione before continuing. "To look after each other we need magic but we're too young for grownup wands and there are lots of bogus trainer wands about. But, I've spoke to my dad and he managed to have some wands checked and registered officially at the Ministry and they have the Ministry stamp of approval. Who would like one to practise with?"

Hermione's hand shot up and so did Ron's "Yeah!"

"I'll have to ask Daddy," said Luna, getting up from where she was sitting on the floor.

Ron's hand sank despondently down. "Us too, I guess," he said. "Wait here, Ginny, I'll talk to Dad."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. "Remember to say they're official training wands that work only with spells authorised for children," said Harry.

"Why'd you cross your fingers, Hermione?" whispered Harry.

"For luck. It's a Muggle thing."

"Oh."

Ginny was looking at them with curiosity. The ragdoll was now in the crook of her arm and paying attention with Ginny's help.

"What's your doll's name, Ginny?" Hermione said gently.

"Minnie."

"That's a pretty name. And do the twins still tease you, Ginny?"

Ginny shook her head.

"Ah, that's nice to hear. Brothers should look after their sisters not mock them. Fred and George are really good at jokes but one can go too far. Everybody's good at something. For instance, Harry's a natural leader and teacher." Harry, astonished, was about to protest but Hermione shushed him and continued. "Luna's a dreamer – good with ideas and shrewd too – I mean she notices things and can work out what they mean. I'm good at knowing things that are impossible to know; secrets about what has not even happened yet and secrets about people too. For instance..." She leaned forward and whispered in the girl's ear. "You're getting really good at flying a broom and will make a wonderful Chaser, Ginny."

Ginny's eyes opened wide as saucers.

"Don't worry. Now we're best friends so your secret is safe. But think about hinting to your family – maybe you'll get your own broomstick one day."

"Harry..." Mr Weasley had come into the room. "Ron says you've some trainer wands?"

"Yes, Mr Weasley," Harry grinned. He rummaged in his bag. "Oh, did I give them you to look after, Hermione?" he asked innocently.

"Did you?" Hermione opened her bag. "Oh, yes, here they are."

She handed four to Mr Weasley who began examining them. Mr Lovegood had returned with Luna too, and he was frowning severely. "They're not safe, Arthur." He shook his head. "All these break-ins..."

But Mr Weasley, who was tapping them with his own wand then casting a test spell, said, "These are Ministry-approved, Xeno, look, see the spark pattern? Can't fake that. They're in perfect order." He handed them back to Harry.

"I don't know..." muttered Mr Lovegood.

"Xeno," said Pandora, who'd been observing the proceedings, "if Arthur says they're approved then they're safe. Let Luna keep the gift."

"Mmm... very well, dear."

Luna ran to each of her parents and gave them a kiss before accepting her present from Harry. In vain, she searched her red dress for a suitable pocket, then pushed it beneath the Alice band behind her ear.

Ron was already cavorting and windmilling his wand about like he was sword fencing an ice skater.

"Stop, stop, stop!" cried Hermione, grabbing his arm. "You're going to take someone's eye out, Ronald!"

Everyone stared at her, including Harry who was silently mouthing something that looked very like " _too bossy._ "

"Oh. I mean. Erm... I mean... like me! Yes, before this, Harry and I practised with sticks and uuh..."

"And Hermione jabbed me!" laughed Harry as loudly as he could. "I couldn't sit down for ages!"

Mr Weasley chuckled, and seeing his grin, Ginny giggled too. But Pandora wasn't laughing; she appeared to be deep in thought as she watched Hermione's expression.

Hermione lowered her eyes and tried to look as rueful as possible. " _Yesth... thsorry..._ " Then she added. "You teach us, then Harry."

"Me?" Harry blinked.

"Yes," said Hermione, looking Harry in the eye with a mischievous smirk, "like you taught me with the erm... stick."

"Ah... umm... right." Harry knitted up his brow and raised his wand. "Well, this is an easy hex that everyone can do with a trainer wand. "You point the wand then up and loop around like this..." His eyes glinted impishly as he suddenly aimed at Hermione. " _Titillando!"_

Purple ribbons of light leapt out from his wand and wriggled around Hermione, who burst out laughing, dropped her wand and clutched her sides. For half a minute she squealed and squeaked and writhed, then, with the onlookers also roaring with mirth, she made a dash for the bathroom, chased by the slowly-fading ribbons which had now tickled her pink.

The twins were quite put out that they had not yet got their own wands but little Ginny soon had them shrieking with merriment once she'd picked up on Harry's guidance and mastered the spell. Ron and Luna were not far behind in tangling with each other in a tickling duel. By the time Hermione crept shamefacedly back into the room – to find everyone too involved to notice – even Percy, who had left his holiday homework up in his bedroom to find out what all the noise was about, was rolling on the floor with tears in his eyes.

"Come on now, Molly," Mr Weasley cajoled his wife back in the kitchen, "he's only teaching them a tickling hex..." – the sound of sneezing was now mixing with the laughter filtering through from the parlour – "...and erm... a sneezing charm. What harm can there be in that?"

Molly shook her head and sniffled, "A Black teaching curses to my kids... what next?"

Mrs Lovegood said, "Molly, has Hermione been here before?"

With a shake of her head, Molly sullenly resumed her preparations of the Christmas goose with a rather vicious thrust.

"Then how'd she know where the bathroom was?"

Molly froze, one hand up the goose's backside. Even Arthur frowned in puzzlement.

"I told her, Mummy." Luna stood in the doorway, twirling large, different-coloured mirror bubbles upwards from her new wand, each one showing a distorted, bulbous reflection of the people in the scene below.

Pandora looked at her daughter thoughtfully. "Luna, do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes, Mummy. They're mysterious but they won't hurt anyone, I promise."

There were several gentle popping sounds. Mrs Lovegood's eyes went upwards to where the bubbles were bursting harmlessly against the ceiling without leaving even a mark.

"Very well," said Pandora, "I trust you."

"Thank you, Mummy."

The oven door slammed noisily shut, and Molly Weasley cast an extra hot spell.

"Molly...!" frowned Arthur.

"I have to make sure the goose is well and truly cooked," snapped Mrs Weasley.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I've gained ground on my chapter-writing this last week so I'm now aiming to publish every 8 days. That feels do-able without too much pressure. This first Book 0 is already over 100,000 words and there are a few more chapters yet. I can't wait to get to Book 1 and start at Hogwarts! Remember, no Voldemort so lots of new stuff instead!_

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	20. 0:Coming Together

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and Luna at a much younger age and even though Voldemort is no more, she has started to bring other dark wizards to her own form of justice – Alecto Carrow was the first. Christmas 1988 is being spent at the Weasleys where Ron and Ginny have agreed to be friends too. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 20**

 **Coming Together**

* * *

.

Being Shown How To Fly

Soon after the midday Christmas feast, the youngsters spilled out quickly into the yard to escape having to wash dishes. The large rubber ring that Harry had received from Luna made a perfect Frisbee target and Snitching practice as it endlessly spun through the air and bounced back off any obstacles. Bill and Charlie paired off with one each of the twins for an impromptu game of two-a-side Quidditch with the younger children cheering them on. Luna had found a bugle from somewhere and was blasting a high note from it whenever she thought anything important happened.

"What d'you think, Harry?" cried Ron. "Reckon you'll try for the house team when we're at Hogwarts?"

"Dad takes me to matches sometimes but I can't play myself yet. Hermione lets me ride her broom but it won't fly up much."

Hermione said, "It's only a youngster's broomstick, Ron. I'm rubbish on a real one." Seeing Ron's funny expression, she added, "I expect I will be anyway."

Ginny gave Harry a disappointed look and for some reason he felt rather awkward that he'd only ever flown on a kiddie's toy broom before. "Oh, I only fly it for a laugh," he said red-faced, but casually examining his fingernails, "out of curiosity to see how much different it was to a grownup one." Luna found a low, fat tone on her bugle and let it rip.

"Why not try?" Ron gestured towards the shed. "All of you."

"There won't be enough brooms to go round – I expect," Hermione again added quickly.

"Yeah, there's Mum and Dad's, mine, and Percy's is hardly used. Come on."

"What about Ginny?"

"What about her?" said Ron, looking at his tiny sister who, as usual, had been listening quietly.

"Ginny's a Weasley," said Hermione. "She'll take to it naturally and be better than me any day of the week. I'm a Granger. I fall off toy bikes even with stabilisers."

Ron shrugged. "Want to have a little go round the bushes, Gin? No need to be scared. I'll fly at your side so you can hang on to my shoulder."

 _This should be good,_ thought Hermione.

The five of them moved further down the garden. Luna lent Hermione her bugle while she went dreamily off on a broom to tour around the perimeter, gazing at trees from a new angle.

Harry swung a leg over his broom and shot away faster than he'd expected, but he clung on gamely, and quickly began to get the feel of the new ride.

Ron mounted his own broom after hovering it beside Ginny on hers. "Slow n' low then, Gin, and grab my arm – you'll be fine."

The only answer was a strong waft of air that rocked and swayed his broomstick. When he looked, she was gone, but Hermione was staring innocently upwards. He followed her gaze. High above, a distant red-haired speck was arcing away towards Harry. As it approached him, the red blur flung itself into a corkscrew that spiralled around Harry, surged ahead over the farthest treetops then disappeared for several seconds. Ron stared dumbfounded.

When Ginny reappeared she was performing side-slews and squealing with joy. The little girl raced back towards Ron and braked hard in mid-air. "Aren't you coming?" As the broom rocketed skyward once more, Minnie was clinging to the front of her broomstick, eyes shut tight, the ragdoll's stringy hair whipping behind her in the slipstream.

"Ginny picks things up quickly, doesn't she?" smirked Hermione, as she raised the bugle to her lips.

.

Secrets and Proof

On the day after Christmas there was time early in the morning for the five children to get together in Ginny's room. Mr Weasley had enlarged the space the night before and added beds for Hermione and Luna; Harry and Ron joined them for a 'serious talk' as Luna earnestly defined it. The wintry sky was still dark and the adults were sleeping off a surfeit of Christmas wine. A single candle burned in a sconce on one wall with the remaining shadows adding to the sense of mystery and drama. Little Ginny yawned, her eyes closing sleepily after so much conversation during her normal dream time.

"So, we're agreed?" whispered Hermione. "We all need to start learning magic before Hogwarts so when we're older we can protect each other from the dark arts?"

"And secrecy is very important," added Luna, in a serious tone. "Nobody must know except people Hermione says we can trust."

"Tell me again what you mean by 'dark arts'?" said Ron. "You mean bad magic?"

"Yes. There's a class at Hogwarts but it depends on the teacher how good it might be."

"And you've... seen this? What, in a dream?" Ron sounded sceptical. Hermione's bed, on which Ron was squatted beside Luna, creaked as he fidgeted to a more comfortable listening position.

"Seen it... ... ..." Harry, who was sprawled out in his pyjamas on Luna's bed, began grandly, but though he still proudly waved one arm about, his voice dwindled to an incoherent mumble.

"What?" snorted Ron, exchanging glances with Ginny and Luna. "We couldn't hear what you said."

With a delicate hand movement, Hermione cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door then said, "My greatest secrets are protected by a powerful spell I modified and named the Fidelia charm, so they can't be overheard or given away accidentally. Only I can tell you. What Harry tried to say was, 'Not only have I already seen the Dark Arts being taught at Hogwarts, I was taught it and even taught it my–"

"You've learned advanced magic?" Ron frowned, then said hesitantly, "Look, don't take this the wrong way but, how can _we_ erm... know you've... uuh?"

Hermione, seated beside Ginny on her bed, just managed to avoid rolling her eyes. Instead, she nodded and said, "You're right to be cautious, Ron. That's good. Uumm..."

Harry sighed. "Show them, Hermione."

"Well... firstly, you must all understand that this is one big secret only we few will know," she said. "When we get to Hogwarts we'll include other kids in our circle of friendship but even they won't be told this. Understood?"

Nods and murmurs of assent in various measures of eagerness, greeted her. Nothing will bring children closer together than the sharing of a big secret – the more important the better.

"Right then."

Ginny noticed first. Hugging her pillow she felt the springs in the bed relax as Hermione's weight lifted from it – except that Hermione remained exactly where she was, sitting on the bed. Only when they began to see more of Gwenog Jones, the Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, on the poster on the wall _behind_ Hermione, and into which the girl was sinking backwards, did understanding begin to dawn on all of them.

Ron's shout was muted but it was obvious what he had silently voiced. "You're a ghost?"

Ginny's squeak too was unheard. Hermione had anticipated it – and more – with a muffling spell.

"I'm not a ghost but I did die," said Hermione's face which was now a silvery wisp looking down from within the ceiling. She floated lower to stand a few inches above, then below, the carpet, became completely invisible for a few moments, then reappeared sitting on Ginny's bed again with the mattress sagging under her weight.

"Whoooaaaa!" murmured Ron, finding his voice return but keeping his exclamation soft.

"That's handy," Luna said thoughtfully.

Ginny's curiosity overcame her nerves enough for her to prod at Hermione's arm to see if she was solid. Her eyes were now wide open in wonder.

Harry, of course was grinning as he watched all their expressions. "And that's not all! Tell them something that's going to happen, Hermione!"

"Uumm... well, let's see... the Berlin Wall will be opened up next year."

"The what?" said Ron.

"Berlin has a wall?" said Luna.

"Bad example," said Hermione, struggling to remember anything unusual that might happen in the magical world. "Erm... Paul Ingleton – you've heard of him, I trust?"

Ginny raised her hand, then meekly lowered it again.

Ron said, "That high-up Ministry official who's resigning? Worked for Fudge? Yeah, Dad reckons it was a fix up. Been going on about it, ain't he, Ginny?"

She nodded her head which she'd snuggled deeper into her pillow.

"Well, I know who's replacing him," said Hermione.

"You can't," Ron said flatly. "Nobody does except Fudge, and he's keeping it quiet until the New Year."

"It'll be Dolores Umbridge, you'll see," said Hermione. "Nasty toad-faced woman. Almost certainly she was the one who framed Ingleton – don't!" she added, seeing Luna looking round for her notepad.

"But shouldn't we do something?" said Luna. "Isn't it dark arts?"

"And how will we explain that we know, let alone prove it?" said Hermione. "We're just kids. Our task is to prepare ourselves for the future. We can't really help Mr Ingleton now."

"Well at least Mr Gair tries!" pouted Luna. She got up and went to stare out of the window. The moon was nearly full but mostly clouded over, as was Luna's reflection.

Hermione stared. "What? What did you say?"

Luna did not answer.

"You've heard of Mr Gair? Jop Gair?" persisted Hermione.

"Daddy publishes a newspaper," Luna reminded her, as she turned around. "Mr Gair knows lots that happen at the Ministry, so Daddy keeps in touch with him. I hope he finds out the truth."

Hermione's eyes bulged. "I hope he doesn't get himself killed first! Umbridge is power-hungry and pure evil. She set Dementors on Harry that would have taken his soul if Harry wasn't so powerful! Then she–" Hermione stopped. Everyone was looking at her in amazement, including Harry.

"What I meant," she added hesitantly, "was what Umbridge would do if things weren't different now. If Gair found any evidence and she heard of it then he'd better watch out, is what I'm saying."

"I fought a Dementor?" said Harry, wonderingly.

"Harry, you drove off a hundred Dementors to save Sirius! He wasn't even your father then."

"No. ... Way!" said Ron, with a kind of stupefied expression on his face. "Erm... what's a Dementor? I think Dad's mentioned them once or twice but he wouldn't tell us what they–"

"They are the foul creatures that guard Azkaban."

Ron gasped.

"They draw all happiness out of you until only your worst memories remain which they then feed off. They are powerful, overwhelming, and cannot be destroyed."

Ginny began whimpering. " _They... w-won't come here will they?_ "

Hermione put an arm around the girl. "No, Ginny, they have no reason to come here."

"And Harry can make them go away?"

"Not yet." Hermione shook her head. "But your dad can, Ginny. You all will be able to one day. Like so..." With a thrust of her arm, a sleek silvery-blue otter sped out from her fingertips and swam around the room several times before fading.

"Wow!" said Harry. "Is that what I did when I saved Dad?"

"Yes, it's a Patronus. Amongst other things, it chases away Dementors. But yours will be a stag like your father's – James, I mean. Ron, yours is a dog. Ginny, you'll cast a horse Patronus one day so you needn't worry about any Dementors. Luna, do you want to know what yours is? It may help you save lives one day."

"Yet you won't help poor Mr Ingleton?" Luna said sadly.

Hermione winced. "Umbridge is smart. The chances of finding any evidence will be zero. Even if anyone did, with Fudge's support, it would be passed off as a mistake, an accident – or something minor. Likely she's done worse things but I can't be sure. Best to wait until–"

"Until she kills someone." Luna's tone was quite upset. She folded her arms and the tiny girl might have looked very fierce if not for her pink jimjams and fluffy bunny slippers.

"Well, no, but..." Hermione wondered how she could explain the ways of the world to this child.

But it was Luna that clarified the debate. "Suppose it was your father instead of Mr Ingleton?"

The harsh example caught Hermione's attention and she frowned. "Very well, I'll look into it but..."

With that slight encouragement, Luna ran forward and squeezed onto Ginny's bed on Hermione's other side. "You've shown us you can fly through walls and be invisible! If anyone can find evidence to help poor Mr Ingleton, then it's you, Hermione, it's you!"

.

The Shakes

The first weeks of the following year were a busy time for Hermione. Not only did she spend much time analysing and cataloguing the information and names in Alecto Carrow's confession for future reference, the dark witch had let slip some additional intelligence without knowing. While offering Hermione a bribe, the address to which Carrow wished to be taken was uppermost in her mind and read as easily by the young girl as body language.

Up in the spare bedroom that she called headquarters, Hermione gazed at the entry in her logbook and considered whether to assign Aculus to the task. The work really required an observer to look for activity patterns and make detailed records – a twenty-four-hour-a-day stakeout.

Hermione closed the book, stood up, scribbled a note for her mother, then Disapparated to contemplate the problem at its source.

And so, for the tenth time in as many days, Hermione Apparated invisibly onto a low rooftop and moved cautiously to the edge. Though the weather had been dull in Elmbridge, it had remained dry. In central London however, an unexpected drizzle of rain made her shudder, so she cast warming and repelling charms which also helped her grip on the slippery slates. She peered down into the near-empty street.

An old tradesman was pushing a cart of wares badly covered by torn canvas, pointlessly reciting from a lifetime of habit, "Mind yer backs. ... Watch yerself now!"

The location she was observing was a shop at the far end of Knockturn Alley – and quite a smart one for that grubby-minded market, being an exclusive interior decorator serving the grand houses. Hermione had determined that most trade was carried out by Floo orders. Whenever she'd walked by in the alley, it appeared that the front shop contained nothing more than a polished timber floor and a smart counter. It had been frustrating work because the shop had been so easy to search and confirm the premises were void of any obvious connection with dark witchery, so all that remained was to keep watch invisibly for an hour whenever Hermione could spare the time.

But time was not to be spared for there was another target pressing for her attention: Umbridge! As soon as her brief rooftop vigil was ended she Disapparated to the Ministry.

Despite her efforts, Hermione had found nothing that linked the Undersecretary with Ingleton. She'd sifted through the woman's offices, both at the Ministry and her study at home. True, Hermione's friends were very impressed when the new Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic was indeed declared to be Umbridge, but Luna's regard had diminished again after her father reported that he'd observed Paul Ingleton using a six-inch ruler in the Department of Magical Transportation: sorting Broomstick Manufacturing Regulation scrolls in order of length. Pandora and Luna both persuaded Xeno not to publish this humiliation.

And finally, dragging Umbridge away for interrogation was not an option for the noble Gryffindor until there was clear implication in a more serious crime than spreading rumours.

Although Luna hugged her cheerfully enough when they met at the start of February in the Grangers' home, Hermione sensed her expectation – and her confusion and dissatisfaction when nothing was mentioned about 'Poor Mr Ingleton'. In like manner, Hermione was frustrated that Luna did not raise the important matter of Beauxbatons. Fortunately, Harry arrived soon after Luna and helped to make both the girls forgetful of their preoccupations for the time being.

Luna looked thoughtfully at her two friends. "Ginny asked me when are you visiting them again? But Ron said Harry should come less often. So I asked him would it be alright if I come more oftener to visit Ginny and Harry comes with me less oftener than me coming more so–"

"What!" said Hermione. A splosh of milk fell onto the kitchen work surface where she was preparing refreshments for them all.

"Only because of his Mum," said Luna, as she bent down to examine the Grangers' washing machine which was whirring away quietly in its final spin cycle. "Muggle television is very funny. Daddy says blurry photographs make your eyes go funny and fuzzes up people's brains almost as badly as Wrackspurts do."

"A television is not simply a string of moving photos, Luna, and that's not a TV anyway," explained Hermione. "Mrs Weasley will simply have to learn that Harry is not affiliated with dark wizards."

"But slowly perhaps? I mean, it's not every day your uncle gets torn apart by wild horses, is it? Big things take time to become little. Are you sure this isn't a television? It's awfully like the one I saw at Mrs Dunston's. She says she swears by it but I listened for a long time and I never heard her." Luna was leaning over sideways so steeply to squint at the laundry flashing around that her face became puffy and flushed.

Harry grinned and Hermione shook her head, reminding herself that Luna was not quite yet eight years old and probably more dippy at times than she'd ever known her before. "It washes clothes Luna. You put dirty clothes in then later take them out all nice and clean. ... I suppose it wouldn't hurt for Harry to miss every other visit for a few months until Mrs Weasley has got over her loss."

"But then why do they call it a television, I wonder?" Luna stood up suddenly and stumbled sideways a couple of steps. Cross-eyed, she blinked a few times to clear her sight. "Daddy was right. I think that must be when Mrs Turner swears. Is the room really turning? It's not is it. The whirls have gotten inside my head, I think."

"Luna, you're just dizzy." Hermione could not help but wonder what the French would make of the quirky blonde girl. _Her hair is straightened out in a tidier fashion but her thinking is just as straggly._ Hermione poured out the drinks then tipped some chocolate cookies out onto a plate. The others joined her at the breakfast bar. She must ask Luna outright.

"Luna..."

"I'm not having my birthday this month," Luna said abruptly, "but it's the anticipation that matters."

"You can't be a leap baby, Luna!" sighed Hermione. "You must have been born in... 1981. And anyway, it's not a leap year this year either!"

"I know, it's so unfair. There was a mix up. I don't mind really. You're not saying much, Harry. What _is_ my Patronus, Hermione?"

Harry put down his banana milk shake and opened his mouth to speak.

"You've got milk foam on your upper lip, Harry," said Hermione. "It's the mad March hare, Luna."

Harry wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

"That explains it then," said Luna, nodding her head wisely. "It all makes sense now."

Hermione held back a groan just as the washer finished and juddered to a halt.

"Oh, what a pity," said Luna, "and it was trying so hard."

"Luna..." Hermione tried again.

"You want to ask me about France, I can tell." Luna sounded as if she had finally accepted the inevitable question.

Hermione nodded.

"It's a secret," said Luna.

"Then why tell me in the–!" blurted Hermione, stopping herself with a glance at Harry.

"Oh, my going to Beauxbatons isn't the secret."

 _What does that mean? Was there something more?_ "But..."

Harry was now staring at Luna in growing disbelief. "How can we, Luna?" he said. "We have to all go to Hogwarts, don't we?" As ever, he turned to Hermione. "Don't we?" He turned back to Luna. "We're best friends."

Hermione said, "It's Luna's choice."

"Oh, and I was looking forward to Hogwarts," said Harry, mournfully. "How will we all get to France? In a boat?"

"Just Luna will... might go, Harry," Hermione said softly.

"But... without us, you mean?" His head twisted back to Luna again. "But we're friends!" His eyes pleaded with her. "Is it about secrets? We could tell you more if that's what it's about, couldn't we, Hermione? We have to be friends, we just have to!"

Luna's eyes were bright with an unknown anguish. "Sometimes, we can't tell each other everything – can we, Hermione? Like if you were close to someone, or a pet – any creature really, but nobody must know." She stared meaningfully at Hermione.

 _Is she putting guilt on me for not telling her why I approached the Snorkack?_ Hermione's was shaking with emotion when she finally answered. "You're right, Luna. There may be good reasons why we all have to keep some secrets from our friends, even though we don't want to. Let it so be."

.

Tease Out

A routine evolved naturally through the following months. Harry reported that the less that Hermione attended his lessons with Madam Gawtley then the more often Neville turned up and gained in knowledge of magic as well as becoming closer to Harry. His exchanges, whether by owl or face-to-face, were always well-rehearsed and discreet:

"You're not stuck on your own again this Thursday, are you, Harry?" – "No, Hermione's coming." – "Ah, good, because Gran wants me to help sort some papers."

In a similar way, with Harry making less frequent visits to The Burrow, Hermione and Luna were both welcomed increasingly by Mrs Weasley because Ron and Ginny benefited from their companionship. Ron also regularly met with Harry at the Grangers whereas Ginny tended to be more of a stay-at-home so Luna kept her company there with Hermione slightly less often and Harry occasionally.

Hermione, sitting alone at her desk in the spare bedroom, pulled a face and flung up her arms. The situation was nowhere near as perfect as she'd hoped. Still, there was plenty of time, and, of course, their eventual attendance at Hogwarts would change everything – assuming Luna did not go to Beauxbatons. And if she did, Hermione was determined to keep in touch with her somehow.

"We're NOT losing Luna!"

The young-old witch nodded resolutely to herself as she consulted her log book. The six former friends were gradually coming together again and so long as they were all getting a head start with their magic, she'd accepted that the full union might take longer than she'd expected.

After turning a few pages, she frowned at the accumulation of tasks that required her to visit Hogwarts; she might have to spend days there. Easter was approaching but many students would stay at the school. Hermione rubbed her nose thoughtfully. None of the children and very few staff remained during the summer holidays. That was it then. She entered a reminder early in July and closed the book just as there was a tap on the window – a delivery owl with the morning's Daily Prophet. Hermione was now keeping a more careful track of events in the magical community.

Much of the news was 'Umbridge this' and 'Umbridge that' – clearly promoting the new Undersecretary's image in return for a little financial incentive. There'd been another break-in at Diagon Alley with Garrick Ollivander blaming 'that Pilf!' but the most worrying news was Jop Gair had successfully demanded an official inquiry into Ingleton's forced resignation. Even more interesting was that it had been seconded by... Bartemius Crouch Sr!

"You fool, Jop!"

Letting the newspaper flop down onto the desk, Hermione leaned back in her chair to ponder the situation. Crouch, she knew, still had some clout at the Ministry and this wasn't a full Ministerial or Wizengamot inquiry. Nevertheless, Hermione was certain there was no evidence to be found, so Jop was taking an awful risk for nothing. A strong twinge of conscience caused her to nibble at her lower lip.

"Don't get on the wrong side of that foul toad!" the little girl softly bemoaned to herself. If only she'd not messed up the formation of the League, she might have advised Jop. What if–

"Hermione!" her mother called up the stairs, "Harry and Luna are here."

"Today?"

There was a moment's pause. "No, they're in the middle of next week! Of course today. How else can they be here right now?"

Hermione sighed. "Just a minute then!"

 _How had Jop got Barty's support?_ Hermione tried to recall her woozy memory of that breakup when the newly-formed Cathesis League had gone its separate ways in a rage. _No, wait. Mike had told them all to go to hell – or something like that – but he'd spoken in the heat of the moment. His anger was really directed at herself. As for Crouch... well, he might feel embarrassed at being duped but other than that, he'd already softened his attitude to Jop. And Jop was a skillful petitioner; he might have turned Crouch._ She rose to her feet feeling very whoozy. _They both might be in danger if–_

"Hermione!" her mother called up the stairs again, "Harry and Luna are here."

 _I heard you the first time!_ thought Hermione, but a weakness befuddled Hermione for a moment, and finding herself sitting down again with the Daily Prophet back in her hands, she held back the intended sarcastic response. Instead, with a puzzled frown, she said tentatively, "Today?"

There was a moment's pause. "No, they're in the middle of next week! Of course today. How else can they be here right now?"

Hermione groaned. She _was_ feeling rather faint. "Just a minute then!"

 _It's happened again! déjà vu! How am I supposed to make sense of this? And why does it weaken me magically?_

She let the newspaper fall back on the desktop. "And stay down this time!"

 _What am I going to do?_

A whisper from nearby made her jump into a stance with her wand weakly pointing at the sound. "Aaagh! Don't do that, Harry! I almost cursed you!"

Harry and Luna were stood in the doorway smiling at her. Luna rushed forward and smothered her in a hug. "Thank you. Thank you. I knew it was you behind Mr Gair all along letting him take the credit!"

"No, no, Luna, I'm only just reading it myself."

"We're going for tea and ice cream with our bus passes! Coming?" cried Harry. "Mum's out shopping – she'll meet us outside the Leaky."

"Erm... in March?" Hermione shivered and glanced at her watch. It was still only nine thirty, and her magic was only at half-strength. She'd need a few minutes to recover.

Luna waved her arms excitedly as she ran back to Harry. "Baked Nebraska and warming charms."

"Don't you mean...? Sure, why not." She put away her wand into its pocket, then joined the others at the door.

"And we can thank Adam while we're there," Luna said in a dreamy kind of way.

Hermione froze. "Who?"

"The one who gave us the bus passes, of course!"

"Oh, right... _that_ Adam. Erm..." Hermione tried to remember what she'd said on Christmas day.

Luna seemed to read her mind. "the big gardening centre in London?" she prompted. Was that a mischievous glint in her eye?

"Oh, yes, well..."

"Of course," continued Luna, "if it's all a misunderstanding..."

"Uuh, no, no, no misunderstanding, erm..." Hermione scrabbled in her pockets trying to remember where she'd put the advert page she'd ripped out of the Daily Prophet last year. "Only... thing is... I'm not sure where I put the address."

"Aha..."

Hermione blinked. "Pardon?"

"Ah..." said Luna.

"You said, 'Aha'."

"Did I? I meant 'ah'."

"Luna's teasing you, Hermione," said Harry with a broad grin.

Hermione frowned. _I'll show you!_ She turned around and drew out her wand – her real wand. "Accio Adam's address!"

Nothing happened.

Luna giggled. Very, very softly. If she could have seen Hermione's dark scowl then perhaps she might not have...

"ACCIO GARDEN CENTRE ADVERT!"

Abruptly, a large pair of trousers that were suspended by a hanger in a corner of the room, twitched as if being tugged at by unseen hands. Out from one pocket a badly-folded sheet paper winged across to Hermione's triumphant grasp. "Aha!" She whirled around. "Told you! His name's not actually on it."

"Then how did you–?"

"Dad told me his name!" snapped Hermione, thrusting the paper away in her jeans pocket.

"Mmm... I see."

"What!"

"May I see?" smiled Luna. Harry laughed. He didn't know what was going on but it was funny to watch.

"You said..." Frowning at losing the verbal duel with an eight-year-old who didn't even know her own birth date, Hermione handed over the newspaper page.

"Oh..." said Luna after a while. "It's the Daily Prophet. I didn't know your daddy knew magical people."

"What? Oh..." said Hermione as Luna handed back the sheet.

"285, Diagon Alley," said Luna. "I don't remember any garden centres there – not even a tiny piece of the middle of one. Do you, Harry?"

Hermione's jaw had dropped. She turned away to study the advert more thoroughly at her desk. Why had she assumed that Adam was a Muggle simply because he'd visited a barber shop in Charing Cross Road? Not all wizards used a spell to keep their hair neat and tidy. And why had she not thought it strange then to see his advert in a magical newspaper? _Perhaps because at the time I was sitting on a crate of distracting parrots worrying about having to murder Carrow!_ "Maybe he's a Squib," she murmured to herself.

"Olive blossom, how lovely!" Luna's jaw had come to rest on Hermione's shoulder, looking over it at the advertisement. Harry was on Hermione's other side, also squinting at Adam's picture with the little white flowers repeatedly blooming and fading around the border.

"They're olive blossom?" said Hermione. "Yes, I think you're right."

"From the tree, see? The one he's leaning against? That's an olive tree. You can tell by the branches."

"So, erm...?" Hermione knew something enormous was developing but she couldn't quite think what.

"Is he a witching guide from one of the American tribes? He doesn't look like one."

"You mean a medicine man? A native American? Of course not. He's... Oh. My. God!"

"He's smoking a ceremonial pipe of peace," Luna explained to Harry who was looking baffled. "Next to an olive branch."

"This is simply impossible," said Hermione.

"No, you can buy them in Knockturn Alley at Cloud Eagle's Trading Post. That's where Daddy bought our wigwams."

"Luna... I...

"It's alright. We all have secrets," Luna said gently.

"It was because of Ron," said Hermione. Her voice was very soft after her recent outcries. "He'd have been extremely... uncomfortable if he thought it was _I_ who'd paid for his bus pass for an entire year; he'd only just met me on Christmas day. "I'm so sorry, Luna. It was on impulse but I shouldn't have made up that story they were from my Dad's friend."

"You knew Ron before, didn't you?" said Luna. "You said you lived it – all the things you see in your mind."

Hermione hesitated a long, long while.

It was Luna who broke the silence. "You were grown up with him, weren't you, Hermione? Were you married?"

Harry blinked his incomprehension for a few moments, then placed his hands over his face as the significance of Luna's words finally sank in.

Hermione's eyes gave away her astonishment too. "How did you – don't tell him, whatever you do!" said Hermione, "nor Ginny. You too, Harry. My spell won't stop you talking to anyone in our circle of friendship – you must be very careful!"

Harry had burst out in a fit of giggles. He tried to say something but couldn't because his thoughts were unable to imagine any sensible picture where Ron and Hermione were doing married things together. Every time he opened his mouth, laughter came out. Finally, as they watched, he managed to gasp out between spasms of laughing, "Why ... c-can't ... we ... t-tell him? He'll–"

"Ron died."

The smile froze on Harry's face, then an expression of horror took over.

"You must never tell him either of those things, Harry. It would be too cruel and I do not know what the consequences might be. Ooh, I wish I'd not told you! Oh, Luna, if only you weren't so quick to work it out."

Luna saw then the ancient pain in Hermione's eyes. "I forgive you about the bus passes," she said solemnly. "And everything. I promise never to reveal this secret."

"I promise too," said Harry.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _This chapter felt a bit disjointed somehow – as if the rhythm is wrong. Hopefully it just seems that way because I've been over it so many times. Let me know what you think. I'm struggling now to finish the next chapter in 8 days so it might be 9 or 10. Oh, well..._

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	21. 0:Second Chances

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and Luna at a much younger age and even though Voldemort is no more, she has started to bring other dark wizards to her own form of justice – Alecto Carrow being the first. Christmas 1988 was spent at the Weasleys where Ron and Ginny became friends too. But in March, 1989, Hermione is puzzled by a curious advertisement for a garden centre that shouldn't be there. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 21**

 **Second Chances**

* * *

.

The Garden of Eden

With a meaningful look, Hermione had persuaded her mother to accompany Hestia and Pandora in taking the children for ice cream. "We need to visit Gringotts, Mum, remember?"

"Oh... yes, that's right."

While Florean Fortescue prepared to bake their Nebraska, Mrs Granger set off with her daughter to exchange gold for Galleons at the bank.

"See you soon!" Hermione called back to her friends.

"Rosemary!" was Luna's final cry as the Grangers rounded the first bend in the alley.

"Now what's this all about, Hermione?" demanded Mrs Granger, once they were out of sight and hearing of the others. "Who's Rosemary?"

"No, Mum, look stop in this doorway and block me from view, I'm going to disappear for a while."

"What! Where to?"

"Don't worry, I'll be right here. Keep holding my hand."

Soundlessly, Hermione faded from view. Mrs Granger frowned. "I feel your glove – but are you still in it?"

Hermione smiled invisibly and squeezed her mother's fingers. "Come on, walk me down the street. We're looking for number 285 but don't look directly, walk on by and just act normal."

"Hermione, whatever this is, it isn't normal," murmured Mrs Granger as they departed once more.

After a while they passed Gringotts and began counting door numbers, keeping on the even side of the cobbled road. Despite the cool weather, plenty of shoppers were stocking up for Easter and tradesman were spreading their wares out onto shop fronts to attract attention. Further along on the other side, a woman, smothered in bunches of lavender, was selling spices and herbs from a tray. They must be getting close. Hermione's free hand rested against her pocket for the reassuring pressure of the Polyjuice vial she'd brought along.

"I think it'll be about six or eight shops past the herb lady," whispered Mrs Granger, "a bit further on from where that old gentleman is... what _is_ he doing?"

Hermione peered across to where her mother was pointing at a white-haired wizard with his back to them. "I think that's Mr Ollivander."

They'd walked on a few more paces before Hermione could be sure. "Yes – looks like he's casting spells to repair and reinforce his door. There've been a few break-ins recently and – oh, I can see number 285 even from here! Look how big the numbers are for such a tiny shop!"

"Seems they want to be noticed. So do we cross over?"

"No, walk by on this side then in two minutes we'll walk back on the other side but don't you look directly – I will. Mum, here's a few Sickles. On the way back continue without me. Buy some rosemary from the herb lady – they're for Luna. It's just an in-joke we're sparring with each other. Then keep going to Gringotts, buy a few Galleons and wait for me there. The goblins' security will keep you safe until I return in a few – let's say no more than ten minutes, okay?"

"And you'll...? Will _you_ be safe?"

"Yes."

But when the moment came for their hands to slip apart, Hermione could not help wondering if either of them would return. She'd learned from bitter experience that tragedy was so often unexpected – especially her mother's death in Hermione's previous life. She watched her depart for a few moments, even waved invisibly when her mother glanced worriedly over her shoulder, then turned to number 285.

The shop was a converted private residence with only a small, curtainless front window, thinly white-washed inside the glass to obscure the interior, and powerfully shielded by magic. The owner had smudged their thumb through the murk to correctly mirror the letters: NEDE, but had the order wrong when viewed from outside. On the front door was a scruffy, rain-washed sign scrawled with:

 _SELLED OFF  
KLOSING DOUN  
FOUR APROPITIATION_

A chuckle escaped Hermione's lips only to be stifled and replaced by a firming of her mouth and a frown. Had she understood the clues properly? Her life might depend on it. The door was very heavily warded and would need hours of wand work to crack. Looking up, the top floor window was bricked in. Apparating was blocked too – that meant escape by Disapparition would be impossible. Was the building a trap? Only one way to find out...

Although normal access was magically prevented, the building as a whole was not fully warded. There was just enough brickwork between door and window for the small, immaterial girl to squeeze through if she put off using her Adam potion until she was inside. Without further hesitation, she pushed on in.

As expected, the shop was empty and neglected. What surprised Hermione was the lack of a counter nor any indication of stock – garden or otherwise. A cracked wooden chair stood alone by a cold fireplace. In the corner sagged a threadbare carpet half-rolled and threadbare. Hermione remained invisible and insubstantial and floated towards the only other door which lay ajar, exposing worn brick-and-cement steps leading upward.

The upper landing was even gloomier than the shop. Of two doors, only one was open and from it came a soft fluttering scrape that Hermione instantly identified, and she drew her wand. The familiar sound had been so unexpected it unnerved Hermione more than the silent, desolate space in which she had placed herself. There it was again – a page being turned! But if her flesh crawled, she could not detect the sensation. Onward she drifted...

As elsewhere, the room was almost empty, but a heavily-cloaked woman was leaning close to the light from the back window. She was seated on a low stool, face turned away and absorbed in the book on her lap, but the back of her short dark hair seemed familiar. Perhaps because Hermione identified with the innocence of the lady's eager immersion, she decided to be bold:

"Who are you?"

The woman let out a squeal, almost dropped her book, and struggled to her feet, tipping over the stool in the process.

"VERA!" If Hermione had admitted to having any expectations, Vera Gair had definitely not been one of them.

Mrs Gair had pressed her back to the wall in alarm, but seeing nothing, and remembering what it meant to hear a disembodied voice, she said tentatively, "Adam? That is, are you the child who appeared as Adam Brown – we never knew your real name."

Hermione was already discarding her stealth spells and walked forward. "I half-suspected, half-hoped that Barty Crouch might be here."

"We've taken turns," said Mrs Gair, "and they've cast detection spells as well for when none of us can keep watch. But mostly it's been me. The others have their jobs to go to and they... well, they were not convinced you'd understand our peace offering – the advertisement, I mean."

"They left a Muggle alone here in an abandoned house in Diagon Alley?" Hermione suddenly thought of her mother and glanced at her watch; only three minutes had elapsed since they parted yet it seemed far longer.

"Jop said nobody could possibly get in except you – not easily and silently anyway."

Hermione nodded. "But they still left you to the mercy of a powerful witch of unknown affiliation."

"They trust you. We all do now." Vera's face lightened a little and she took a couple of steps forward. "Oh, we were fools, idiots! It was obvious once we'd had time to consider! But we were so disappointed and... hurt. Jop in particular was very broken up about it. For the first time in years you'd raised his hopes and – oh, you just can't imagine how changed he'd become! He needs you. We _all_ need you. Will you consider a truce? Might we talk it over, uuh... what _is_ your real name? I can't keep calling you Adam."

"Mmm... Rosemary – call me Rosemary."

Vera's face brightened even more and she said excitedly, "Oh, we tried everything to find you, Rosemary! Mr Crouch owled Professor Dumbledore – he's the headmaster at Hogwarts School of magic – to ask if they'd anyone about your age named Brown on their records and they've a Lavender starting in a couple of years but she wasn't at all like you and we searched and searched then Barty suggested we advertise but Mike said we'd have to do it covertly so only you would recognise what we meant and he'd collapsed and was in hospital but he's out now but has to take it easy and – oh, I'm so happy we've found you!" She took several gulps of fresh air.

"But Adam's photo? How was that possible?"

"Mike took one of his best memories of you and well, tampered with it a little then put it in his Pensieve and called it up – you know, when the projection of an individual comes up on top of the dish? We made one good photo and, well, meddled with that a little too – the pipe smoke and suchlike – that was my idea!"

"So what happens next?" Hermione examined her watch then began edging away towards the door. "I really have to go soon or Mum'll be mad at me – she's taking me for an ice cream and it'll melt."

"Melting ice cream? With your mum?" Vera's grin expanded and she began to laugh.

"What?" frowned Hermione.

"I kind of imagined you as Adam high up in a cloud fortress with an army of tough mage warrior ninjas eager to jump at your every command as you prepared to save mankind."

"Erm... well, no, just the ice cream and a mum – sorry." The little girl swung self-consciously about the doorframe with a rueful smile on her lips. "So... how will you get home, now?"

"Jop calls in every hour or so and..." Vera picked up her book. "I'll carry on reading for a bit. Look, we'll arrange a meeting. How can we reach you, Rosemary?"

"I'll call you in a few days, Vera. I've got your number." Hermione was clutching the doorframe now as if she'd zoom away should her grip loosen.

"Wow! You know how to work telephones?"

"You'd be surprised about all the things I know, Vera."

Hermione let go. And zoomed away.

.

Bug Off

Baked Nebraska almost filled the tabletop and the others were already scooping into their claims on the territory by the time Hermione and her mother returned. Every flavour of ice cream was represented from golden cream sands to mint green prairies, but quarrying had its own rewards and they soon discovered the soft, biscuit cake below, hot and soaking in sweet jams. Rivers of blueberry syrup could be dammed to form more generous spoonfuls, else diverted to sauce other locations.

Luna was constructing an edifice from portions of chocolate wafer. "Have pity, brave Sir Harry," she squeaked in the highest pitch she could manage, "For I am Cinders, a prisoner forgotten in Azkaban!"

Harry looked at her quite seriously over his latest spoonful of currant boulders. "But is it villainy for which you are incarcerated? If so, then I, Captain Potter must decline your request." He swallowed his currants and scraped around for more.

"The wicked queen was jealous that I am the fairest in the land for which she locked me away for a million years!"

"That does seem unreasonable," frowned Harry. "In which case my sworn duty is to dig a tunnel and come rescue you forthwith."

"But the Dementors, Captain! Would you risk all for a strange and mysterious gypsy girl and confront so many dozens of these evil creatures?"

"Dozens, you say? Why Captain Potter spits on mere dozens and would face thousands upon thousands for one so fair as thee, mysterious gypsy girl! See my magic spoon, how it carves a path straight and true under the very noses of–"

"Harry, you're playing with your food again," chided Hestia.

"But Mum, Cinders is incarcerated with robbers and burglars just for being the fairest! What's worse than that?"

A slight frown darkened Hermione's expression. _Hadn't they sent Pilf to Azkaban? So how could he have–?_

"You really are a dreamer, Hermione," smiled Pandora. "In quite a different way to Luna."

"Mmm...? Oh, uuh..."

"Hermione thinks about problems, but I just think," explained Luna as she munched and crunched Azkaban.

"Ah, I see," said Mrs Lovegood. "And what exactly don't you think about, Luna?"

"Everything," said Luna. "If you think about problems then you've hardly room for solutions as well, have you? For instance..."

Luna leaned over to Hermione as if to whisper but instead snatched something from her shoulder. "Instead of wondering how to remove this bug without frightening you, I just removed it."

"NOOO!" Hermione leapt up as Luna threw the tiny insect into the roadway where it crept between the cobblestones.

Mrs Granger was on her feet too. "Hermione! Whatever's the matter!"

"It was only an aphid that came with your gift," said Luna. She plucked a leaf stem from the bunch of little flowers that lay on a vacant chair and placed it down next to the insect.

"But rosemary repels insects!" cried Hermione. "I'm sure I saw it in my herbology book!"

"Ah, but aphids don't know how to read, do they?" smiled Luna serenely. "Look."

Hermione leaned over to watch. Sure enough, it was an aphid crawling gratefully back onto the sprig. She relaxed. "Sorry everybody, I was just startled."

Hestia said, "No need to be embarrassed, Hermione; timidity isn't a sin. Lots of people are scared of bugs."

Mrs Granger gave Hermione a funny look but kept her mouth shut. Hermione returned with a raised eyebrow back and resolved to add another name to her logbook, that of the animagus, Rita Skeeter.

.

And A Little Child Shall Lead Them

To Hermione's embarrassment, all the Cathesis League members rose to their feet when the little elf showed her into Mike Worthing's study – all save the invalid himself, who rolled himself forward with an outstretched hand.

"Excuse the wheelchair but I'm still weak from the treatment at St. Mungo's."

"We're pleased you came, Rosemary," said Jop. "We need you badly."

Vera nodded in agreement. "There's a new Undersecretary who cost us one of our most important contacts at the Ministry, and well..."

Crouch cut in. "First things first. We'd like a clearer idea of exactly who and what you are. Your true age and appearance. And is Rosemary your real name?"

Hermione's face darkened. "I am as you see me: a nine-year-old girl. But I have experience and magical power from a previous life in the future. In that lifetime my parents were savagely tortured to death, as were almost every friend I ever knew." Vera's hand covered her gasp but Hermione continued, "So bitter are the memories that I find myself unable to give you my family name at this time. You can call me Rosemary Brown. Will you have me?"

Barty Crouch sighed. "Truth is, we drew ourselves back together and attempted to carry on alone but it's impossible without your knowledge and abilities. For my part, I apologise. You were right about my son. At times he shows indications he is fighting the Imperious Curse I placed on him, and I fear the worst. As for Mike here..." Crouch's expression turned grim.

Worthing took up where he left off. "Only five to ten years, they've given me – much of that to be spent in a hospital bed."

Hermione said, "St. Mungo's are being conservative. Their potions will sustain you longer than ten years going on what I've seen before. However, I should not wait to reproduce my genetic therapy. I'll need a small team – part Muggle, part Magical, a laboratory – the equipment will not be easy to get. A year might be required. I won't have time once I start at Hogwarts so I'll have to fit it in before then. What Muggle contacts have you that might help?"

"None in the medical profession but I have links with those who can find what we need. I'll set someone on it if you give me details of the essentials you need to get started."

Hermione nodded. "What security do you have within your extensive business?"

"Security? Why, I have a great many trained guards and investigators, of course – some of them ex-Aurors."

"Good. You'll need them."

Hermione pulled out her notepad and sat down at the table; the others joined her. While she scribbled out a list, Hermione enquired about Paul Ingleton.

Jop said, "We've discussed his dismissal with a great many in the know at the Ministry but none of them has heard so much as a whisper nor any one common source for the rumours that led to his resignation. I was wondering if you might be able to uuh... slip into places not available to me and perhaps–"

"Believe me, I've tried," replied Hermione. "Like you, I've not discovered any trace of information about the funds."

"Paul was one of the key figures at the Ministry I was counting on as part of the Cathesis plan – someone that close to the Minister was invaluable, and Umbridge is not to be trusted. Are you sure you've carefully checked her office?"

Hermione nodded. "And her home as well. Not a sign or whisper of anything useful. It's almost as if..."

"What?"

"Perhaps we're going about this the wrong way. Listen, we've found nothing connecting Umbridge with Ingleton – in fact nothing relating to any kind of misconduct whatsoever – then why not take the case to court?"

"You mean have him tried for embezzlement!"

"Yes. Let his opponents provide evidence against him where there is none. His name will be cleared."

Jop sighed. "It's a risk, and even if we succeed his previous position is filled; Fudge won't throw out Umbridge without good reason."

Vera said, "At least his career might progress again; it's something. Jop, Let's ask Paul, see if he'll agree."

Hermione tore off the sheets she'd been writing on and passed them to Mike. "I believe that address in Knockturn Alley may have connections with the Black Arc. Would your people be able to keep it under observation for a few months? Might be nothing but I'd like to be sure."

Mike nodded.

Hermione continued, "Some of those items I've marked do not even exist yet – we'll have to improvise. The ones I've ticked I already have obtained for another, simpler purpose." She looked meaningfully at Crouch.

"Are you referring to Barty – my son?" said Crouch. "I'm almost afraid to leave him at home. Winky keeps insisting he ought to have walks in the garden for exercise and–"

"WHAT! That's not _her_ idea, don't you see? He's been prompting Winky when he has a few moments of lucidity. Don't give in to those suggestions or you'll lose him one day."

"Then how long before you have made your preparations to make him secure?"

"My arrangements are already complete. We can transfer him after this meeting if you want."

"So soon! Yes, then. That will be a great weight off my shoulders."

"He's already been tried and convicted but due process must be followed to see that justice is done with your additional consent and as witness."

"There ought to be three of us in case of disputes," said Crouch. "Mike has already said he wants nothing to do with our temporary rough justice, and anyway, he must not Apparate long distances in his present condition. What about you, Jop?"

Gair shook his head. "I'd rather not be part of your vigilante campaign either, if you don't mind."

"Afraid of getting your hands, dirty?" said Crouch with a trace of sarcasm. "The ones we'll be confining are pure evil. Don't think of it as revenge for past deeds. You'd be preventing a lot of suffering in the future."

Jop appeared to hesitate but then slowly shook his head.

"I'll do it," said Vera, softly.

"Vera!" said Jop.

"We're working to make the world a better place, Jop, and I must play my part."

Crouch looked doubtful. "A Muggle evaluating magical crime and its penalties?"

"That's old thinking, Barty," said Hermione. "Vera has a qualification in sociology which includes an understanding of basic law systems and methods – and remember, Muggle justice is far ahead of its magical equivalent."

"Very well then, Rosemary."

"Which reminds me, the League needs a few simple rules and guidelines writing up and someone to see they're adhered to as well as generally keep control. Would you look into that, Vera?"

Hermione became conscious that everyone was staring at her.

"What?"

Vera said, "But Rosemary... _you_ are our leader."

"Me? I thought I'd... look, I'm just helping set things in motion and offering help as required. You four will be the central driving force with hopefully, Mr Crouch here as the new Minister for Magic one day."

There were a few moments of silence.

"No," said Vera.

"No? What do you mean, No?" said Hermione.

"No," said Jop.

"No," said Mike Worthing as he carefully tucked Hermione's list away in his pocket.

"No." Crouch folded his arms. "We'd already decided before this. You have to lead. We're blind and almost helpless without you. You empower and inform us. You must accept yourself as leader."

Hermione blew out a long breath of surprise then thought for a few more seconds before saying, "Let it so be."

.

Totally Barbaric

After another hour of discussions, the meeting broke up. Hermione Apparated home to fetch the hirudo she had previously prepared, informed her mother of developments and that she would be out for the rest of the day, then returned to Worthing's manse. Jop had already departed to contact Paul Ingleton. Vera was in a slightly heated debate with Crouch with Mike looking on but keeping quiet.

"Many prisoners find complete isolation very difficult," Vera was saying. "You said he'll lose his magic so why can't Winky visit him from time to time? She cannot remain bonded to a non-magical."

"Winky? What in Merlin's name for?"

"For company."

Crouch looked puzzled. "A house elf? Company for my son? He regards them merely as useful vermin – much as he does Muggles, incidentally."

"Besides which," cut in Hermione, "he'll find ways to trick or persuade Winky against your orders, Barty. Even though she will no longer be able to regard him as her magical master, Winky may unwittingly help him escape. No elves. Let him have his mother's portrait if you can let her go yourself."

"Why not portraits for all?" said Vera. "Some people get along well without others, but for many it can be too cruel."

"We'll consider it later," said Hermione.

To save Hermione's magical reserves, Barty Crouch Apparated both Vera and Hermione to his home where they found Crouch's son sitting staring vacantly at the basement wall.

"Is he always like this?" fretted Vera.

"It's the only way. I direct him when to eat and sleep. The rest of the time I convince him that the wall is enjoyable to look at."

"Totally barbaric," muttered Hermione. "Where's Winky?"

"House duties. She won't bother us," said Crouch.

Without wasting any further time, Hermione heavily stunned Barty Crouch Junior and had cast a full body bind before he even slumped to the floor.

Vera cried, "Was that really necessary!"

"I'm taking no chances. Apart from his many other crimes, I've seen the results of his work on the parents of a friend of mine. Winky is not vermin – _he_ is."

She pulled the hirudo vial out of her pocket and, with her real wand, drew out the wriggling leech. "You might wish to face away while I do this..."

"Oh, God!" cried Vera. Crouch looked grim. But both watched as Hermione allowed the parasite to creep into the young man's eye, and finally disappear behind it.

Winky served them lunch while they waited, and it was she who sensed the loss first. Her wail of despair alerted them. "Master Barty is gone! Is not master now!" She clutched the sides of her face in confusion.

"He's still down there, Winky, safe and sound," soothed Hermione. "We're taking him somewhere more secure and spacious where he can read and write and get plenty of exercise."

"But no magic?" said Winky, with the tears streaming down her face onto the dessert tray she held.

"Never again," said Hermione. "He's a Muggle now."

Crouch's shoulders sagged and for a moment he looked positively ill. "My son..."

"It occurs to me that in this case we can carry out the rest of the proceedings here; neither of you need to come with me to the prison."

"If I'm to have a say in his sentencing then I'd rather see how he is to be punished," said Vera firmly.

Hermione nodded. "Better let the meal digest for a while then; it's a long Apparition.

.

A Near-Death Experience

Hermione was utterly exhausted after Apparating the two Bartys and Vera all the way to Hungary then moving them all immaterially down through the rock. She sagged down to sit with her back to the wall of the receiving cell while Crouch attended to his son.

"How are you feeling?" asked Vera.

"It's nothing but temporary magical exhaustion. A few more minutes and I'll be fine. Perhaps in the future Barty might organise some international Portkeys. Hey, Mr Crouch!"

But Mr Crouch did not answer. He lay on the floor with his son's hands gripped at his throat.

"NOOOO!" wailed Hermione struggling in vain to get up.

Crouch Junior whirled around as if noticing Hermione and Vera for the first time. "What is this?" He held his father's wand and was pointing it in their direction. "Who are you?"

"We're... we came to help you escape!" said Vera, rising to her feet. "We're with the Black Arc. We tricked your father into bringing you here but he attacked my daughter. She's... she's dying." Vera walked forward to offer her hand to Barty.

He frowned suspiciously. "If you're an Arcanist, where's your mask? And your wand? Why are you dressed like a stinking Muggle?" His eyes flicked over her shoulder to where Hermione was gesturing towards her beaded bag.

"Mummy... you _puthshed_ them in your bag _thso_ Mr Crouch wouldn't _thsuspect_ , remember?"

Barty was now aiming at Hermione, but he kept his distance. "Open it. Slowly."

She did so.

"Show me..."

With an effort, Hermione summoned Alecto's mask to the top of her bag and weakly held it up.

Barty's shoulder visibly relaxed and he turned back to his father who was feebly trying to lift his head. "Well, father, seems you've been outwitted. Any last words before I finish you once and for all? How about 'Sorry, son?' or–"

He never finished for the leg-locker curse from Hermione's wand hit him squarely in the back and he tripped over, cursing and swearing.

Hermione was sitting up more squarely now. "Drag Mr Crouch well away from his son, Vera, and keep clear of him yourself. He's no threat at a distance."

Barty rolled over to glare back at his attacker. "You think not, you sow turd with your baby spell?" His father's wand thrust out in Hermione's direction. "Avada Kedavra!"

Hermione sighed melodramatically. "Muggles can't cast the killing curse, Barty, nor any other spell – you should know that."

For a few moments it seemed that Barty had not comprehended what the little girl had said. Then it registered. Only now did he notice the awful emptiness inside. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"

"Help me stand up, Vera," Hermione said quietly, once she was sure that Mr Crouch was out of danger.

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine in a minute or so."

Leaning against Mrs Gair, Hermione walked slowly towards Barty who was lying whimpering on the floor. "You are a total cockroach's arse, Barty Crouch, and long may you rot in hell. ... Accio wand."

Mr Crouch's wand flew from Barty's grasp into Hermione's and she returned it to its rightful owner. After casting a healing spell to help him recover, she said, "Why'd you release him from your curse? Why not leave him bound and helpless?"

"I wanted to say a final goodbye." croaked Mr Crouch, rubbing his throat ruefully. "I thought he _was_ helpless. He has no magic so..."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't underestimate Muggles, Mr Crouch, it may be your undoing."

She looked up at Vera. "Barty has been previously convicted for many crimes of violence, torture, and murder – while we ourselves have just witnessed him trying to kill his own father and, incidentally, myself. Are we agreed on our sentence?"

Mrs Gair nodded. "Life."

"Life," said Mr Crouch.

"Very well, let it so be."

Within a few minutes, Barty was hoisted into the air ready for the pronouncement.

"Barty Crouch Junior," began Hermione.

"What is this?" scoffed Barty. "Has my father relegated all his self-respect to a smartmouthed baby?"

"You have been found guilty of many crimes including attempted murder," continued Hermione, ignoring Barty's sneers. "We hereby sentence you to lose your magic and serve a term no less than life in Azkaban Prison. Alternately, as an act of compassion, you may choose to serve out your days in a more humane confinement or else elect a merciful death. Do you wish to decide now?"

"I'll decide how long your mum and dad squeal before they beg me to kill you, little girl."

"Let the record show that the prisoner did not select either of the alternatives."

In a fury, Hermione flew straight at Barty and carried him onward through the dense rock until they touched down in one of the small stone cells close to the now-ravenous Dementor. Here she dropped her burden who began screaming before he hit the slabbed floor and as icy terror sought his worse memories on which to feast.

"I'll be back in one month then yearly thereafter to give you another chance to change your mind."

Whether he'd heard her above the howling of the beast and his own pitiful cries, Hermione neither knew nor cared, for she was gone before he began to sob and beg.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Last chapter, a guest reviewer was puzzled that Hermione bothers with the kids instead of doing something more practical. The simple answer is that she loves them and fully understands the dangers they will face in the future so she wishes to prepare them. Despite her powers and knowledge, Hermione tries to go by the book and won't punish anyone for crimes they might not commit in this lifetime. She's not an assassin, nor would removing most dark wizards save the world from Muggle folly. It will take years for her to lay the groundwork for an improved society. Besides, that is merely the background to this story. Most of the adventures will involve the kids once they get to Hogwarts._

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	22. 0:Keeping In Touch

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort is no more, she has started to bring other dark wizards to her own form of justice – Alecto Carrow being the first. Reunited with the Cathesis League, Hermione has also transferred Barty Crouch Junior to Devil's Deep. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 22**

 **Keeping In Touch**

* * *

.

The Secret Society

By Easter, Harry had mastered all of the simple spells permitted by his trainer wand. Ron, Luna, and even Ginny were not far behind, leading Hermione to wonder if the start age for Hogwarts was not rather too conservative. Harry had grasped the first basics not only of formal duelling but real fight deployment, movement, strategies, and defence. Not that he had any idea yet of how to cast those dangerous spells, let alone how to deal with his own fear when they were being cast back at him, but he was now able to help the others, and progress improved.

Hermione made sure the work was light and enjoyable such that before long there was spare time in their sessions which she wondered how to fill because of the limitations on casting magic.

"Honestly! The Underage Trace should have been called the Infantile Trace! I mean, no casting of spells just drags every child down to the lowest Crabbe-and-Goyle denominator."

"Dad sometimes show me things with his wand," said Harry, "but Mum pulls a face." He demonstrated by twisting his eyes and mouth into various severe grotesqueries – much to Luna's amusement.

"The thing is," continued Hermione in a raised voice, struggling to be serious against the backdrop of hilarity, "the more you learn now the easy way, the simpler you will find Hogwarts and have more time to relax and enjoy being there. It will remove the pressure of tests and exams – and homework will be a doddle instead of a tedious chore."

"Sounds good to me," said Ron, lounging back with his feet up on Mrs Granger's best couch in the front room. "But it's not all about spells is it? I mean, we can all fly pretty good now – you excepted, Hermione – so we won't have that to learn. And Charlie's learning astronomy. I suppose we could borrow his charts and he might even let us use his Omniscope. It's not as good as a big telescope but–"

"What did you say?" asked Hermione, her train of thought still on tests and exams.

"Omniscope – it's a magical tube thingy that shows you the stars and–"

"No, just before that..."

"He said it's not all about spells," came Ginny's quiet voice before she could stop herself.

But nobody noticed her pink cheeks. Ron was looking up at the ceiling, imagining a giant telescope thrusting up through the roof into the sky. Harry was watching various expressions crossing Hermione's face. He gave Luna a nudge but she'd already seen.

"That's brilliant, Ron," cried Hermione. "We can't study Charms but we might consider simple Herbology or... well, History might be a bit... I mean, I don't want to bore you or it would put you off bothering at all." She hissed softly through her protruding teeth. "Maybe that's why they don't teach magic until we're eleven. But there are a few simple plants we could look at. Then there's... mmm... Runes and Arithmancy are too advanced. Muggle Studies and Divination are not needed till later... Potions is a possibility – Most potions don't require incantations with wands."

She thought for a while. Harry watched her face again. Luna watched Harry watching Hermione.

"We could enlarge my upstairs room again!" she said at last. "Divide it up and have space for cauldrons – just the most simple ideas we could explore to get you started. I've got tons of ingredients already."

"Ginny and Luna will do extra brilliant out of this!" said Ron. "They'll be prefects by about second year at this rate!"

Hermione's eyes flickered as she realised what he meant. "That's right! How'd you get so smart, Ron?"

"What, you think I was stupid or something?"

"What do you mean, Ron?" said Harry.

Hermione's cheeks flushed. "No, but... oh, Ron, I'm sorry, I oughtn't to have said that."

Ron swung his legs back down off the sofa and sat up. "Steady on, I only said..."

"I know but..."

He stared at her.

Hermione said, "I only meant – oh, I don't know what I meant. I say stupid things."

"Ron, what did you mean about Ginny and Luna?" Harry repeated. He turned to Ginny when Ron continued to stare at Hermione.

Ginny said, "Because we have another year before we start than you."

It was Harry's turn to stare. "But... but I want us to be all together! Aren't we all going to be together, Hermione?"

"What...? Uuh... no, Luna and Ginny are a year younger, aren't they? Anyway, Luna's probably going to–"

"Beauxbatons is not definite," said Luna.

"Ah... good. So... it wasn't really, you know... erm... a serious possibility?"

"Oh, it's a very important matter," said Luna, quite firmly.

"But this is horrible," wailed Harry, rising to his feet and scuffing at the carpet. "And what about Ginny? We can't leave Ginny out no matter what."

Ginny gnawed at her lower lip and focused on Harry.

"We'll have to keep in touch – every day," said Hermione, who hadn't given the matter any thought previously.

"But owls take forever and they're not the same as seeing your friends," whined Harry, crouching down by her chair with a pleading look in his eyes. "Hermione, do something."

"Uumm... Floo is too risky at both ends. ... We might try wireless if it can be got to work on the perimeters. ... I could experiment with the Protean Charm on say, a... diary." She glanced at Ginny but Ginny – who Hermione was used to seeing flinch at the mention of the word 'diary' – showed only innocent interest. "It wouldn't seem unusual to have diaries with locks so nobody else could pry – and no need to erase the messages afterwards so it would be a true log. ... Pity veefones won't be invented until – AH!"

"What, Hermione!" cried Harry, still crouched by his friend.

She looked thoughtfully into his face. "Harry, this is a quest for you to undertake. It will require skill and subtlety but I think you're ready. Do you accept?"

"YES, YES!"

"Well then, your father has some two-way mirrors – so has Neville's. You need to–"

"Who's Neville?" said Ron.

"Another friend you'll be meeting one day. Harry, don't rush this because we have lots of time yet. Find out what you can about them. Two-way mirrors are very rare and expensive; you can't simply ask about them or your dad'll wonder how you've heard of such things. You'll have to get him talking about what he did during the last war – not all in one session but just to show ongoing interest. When one of the conversations moves in the right direction you might ask about communications. Let _him_ bring up the subject of two-way mirrors. One of them was your first father's so Sirius might even give it to you as part of your inheritance."

Harry was wide-eyed and excited now. "And what about Nev?"

"That might be more difficult. First you have to bring him round to your way of thinking – remind him he's honour-bound to keep our secrets. If he can find out anything from his Mum and Dad, it might help. Meanwhile, I'll search the shops down Knockturn Alley; two-way mirrors are almost unknown but I might get lucky and find one. We need at least three altogether: one for Ginny, one for Luna, and one for us at Hogwarts."

"It'll be like a secret society!" cried Luna.

"Luna, we _are_ a secret society," said Harry. "The best one there's ever been!"

.

Being Tested

It is a curious thing that anyone might pity a worthless, evil character, but with the Dementor moaning outside his cell, Hermione found Barty Crouch Junior in a pitiful state on her return. He blubbered. He wept. He kissed her feet. He pulled them from under her and fell upon the little girl so heavily she broke a rib.

While the Dementor howled and Hermione screamed in pain, Barty gibbered a delirious message, "Brat, yes brat! Now it's me! Me! Apparate me to freedom or I tear out your throat." His strangling grip was already crushing her windpipe, and an icy blackness began to fog Hermione's thinking...

One moment later, Barty's grip closed upon itself; filthy straw and stone were all he could scrape upon once more. With a wail to match the Dementor, he leapt up, searching for his victim, but she was gone, and the skeletal creature beyond the walls welcomed his fresh despair...

Immateriality has no physical sensations, not even pain. From the relative safety of the nearest cavern, Hermione braced herself for the inevitable, for she could not sustain the spell for long nor Apparate to a healer in this condition. Self-healing an insubstantial body would be too difficult in her current condition.

There was no one to hear her subsequent squeals of pain and laboured breathing but by rolling onto her right side she eased her distress to a hard-but-bearable ache beside her heart, and sore, badly-restricted breathing. There she lay, frightened, not daring to move, and wondering what to do.

And then she began to cry. Hermione wanted her mum so badly it hurt even more inside – especially her throat. Adult reason struggled with childlike instincts for control, and for a time, the infant was there utterly alone and sick with fear. In time – a few minutes that seemed like several long hard lessons – Hermione came to herself, regained control, and forced herself to try to think clearly once more.

Her magic was intact but without speech she was limited to nonverbals nor could she reach her wand pocket. Her hand worked slowly and oh, so carefully down to find her little beaded bag – gone! She must have dropped it when attacked. Anguish clutched at her innards then for she knew she'd have to go back – and right now before Barty found it!

 _No, I can't! I just can't! I won't!_

Yet necessity acted against her own will, and so she did involuntarily cast the spell. Immaterial once more, Hermione knew she was on borrowed time as she flew back the way she'd come.

Barty was crouched over her open bag, leering at her. In his hand was Alecto's knife, clearly he'd known Hermione would have to return injured, and launched himself instantly in her direction. But his rush greatly underestimated her wandless powers. She hit him hard with a convulsing jinx in the stomach and he doubled over into a tight ball of cramping pains – and the knife was recovered by her disarming charm. A full body-binding spell followed before she even considered materialising but she also had to deal with her own terrifying visions caused by the Dementor. With long practice of focusing inwards in such adverse situations, she braced herself... then gently cast a Patronus to ward off the creature's effects.

Floating over to the bag, she summoned out a quick-aid pack then wafted down onto her right side where she could also keep an eye on Barty. His eyes were screwed up with suffering but she sensed he was squinting back at her.

Knowing what was to come, it was much harder this time to let go the incorporeality which alone masked physical sensation. The pain seemed worse at first, yet eased more quickly, with only slight adjustments to her posture – and the healing items were close to her hand. But she was unable to swallow even a sip of Skele-Gro and had to content herself with pressing a dittany poultice to her throat.

There the two of them lay in silence, watching each other, predator and prey – but which was which?

Barty recovered his powers of speech first. "Who are you?" he hissed between gritted teeth. "How could a tiny girl best me?" He was quiet for a while, thinking. Some of his thoughts were voiced to himself in a harsh whisper. "How did she Disapparate without me hanging on to her?" and "How'd she master such things at her age?" and "Why an Arc knife and mask?" Finally, he addressed her directly, "Are you really that young? Or are you not what you seem?"

Enduring the intense discomfort and waiting for the dittany to complete its work, Hermione lay silent.

Barty's gasped and his eyes widened as an idea struck him. "You're him, aren't you! The True?"

Hermione could make no reply.

"Yes, yes, it all makes sense! But don't you see? We're on the same side? Those few of us in the Helm dispersed when I tried to join with the Arc. I'd heard you were the One to come!"

He lapsed into silence again, watching her.

"This is to try me, isn't it?" he finally said. "Master, you need only ask and I will serve! I swear on my magic! On my... magic..." His eyes dulled as he remembered – then lightened again as his voice became more manic. "You've not really taken my magic have you! You've Confunded me!" He laughed and coughed and spluttered with excitement. "I will not fail you! Test me, I will not bend. Trial me, I shall not yield. I promise unswerving devotion, Master!"

"Have you made your decision, Barty?" Hermione said coldly as she massaged her throat. "Remain here or be moved to a more bearable prison cell?"

He blinked, confused by the question for a moment. "Yes, yes, whatever is your will!"

"No – _you_ must decide."

"Ah, I see your plan... then... what would be your preference?"

Hermione sighed and lifted up the Skele-Gro once more. "Despite everything, I'd much rather nobody remain in this kind of hell."

"Then that is my will too, Lord!"

Hermione was too tired to roll her eyes. She swallowed the potion, grimacing at the taste, then prepared for a long wait...

For most of an hour they lay there while the fracture knitted together. Barty continued to rant and rave but Hermione was too emotionally exhausted to care. He'd deluded himself that she was his new master, and if that meant he'd cooperate then that was fine with her. When she was strong enough to stand, she took him to his new cell, presented him with his mother's portrait for company, then left him there as subservient as any house elf in the curious belief he was being put to some grand test of eligibility – for what, Hermione did not know.

.

Without You

Over a month passed during which Harry learned quite a lot about both of his fathers' and both of his mothers' actions and escapades during the last war but nothing about how they communicated – with mirrors or otherwise. Harry wondered if he was acting _too_ casual.

"You're boring him, Sirius," said Hestia shortly after dinner one evening.

"No, ancient times are interesting," said Harry quickly. Sirius raised an amused eyebrow towards Hestia at that remark but Harry didn't seem to notice. "I like to learn because there are still bad people about and I want to be prepared when I grow up."

"Quite right," said Sirius. "Death Eaters we used to call them, and they hated Muggles and Muggle-borns."

"Like Hermione?"

"Well, yes, like Hermione."

Hestia thanked Kreacher and began to pour the tea herself as the family moved to the comfy seats around the hearth. The month of May was not cold enough to need a lit fire but Sirius had conjured up some heat-less flames for atmosphere.

"She's not a bad person you know," said Harry. "Not like them."

"Of course not," said his mother. "You mean Hermione?"

"Yes. You don't think she's bad, do you Dad?"

Sirius fumbled the cup that was being passed to him. "Hermione? She's a fine girl. If we thought different then we wouldn't let you see her, would we, son? Why?"

Hestia poured out a glass of milk. "What makes you ask, Harry? Has she said something? Here, take this."

"Thanks, Mum." There was a pause while young Harry took several long gulps of milk followed by an even longer sigh of satisfaction. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "No, but I was wondering about when we go to Hogwarts."

"Ah, I see," said Hestia. "You're worried she won't always... be with you?"

Harry stared at his mother, and the glass of milk in his hand trembled. "Could something happen then?"

"Now, Harry," said Sirius, "I want you to listen very carefully. Things change. Nothing stays the same. You need to be ready for new situations, be with different people..."

"But I don't want different people! I want Hermione!"

"I know, I know but..."

"Is it because she's smart? Something might happen?"

Hestia said, "Exactly. That's why we've... well, if Hermione can't watch out for you then..."

Harry put down his milk. Coming back to his mind was the conversation he'd overheard through the bedroom window last summer. It seemed a hazy daydream now, almost a year later, and he struggled to remember what had been said. Something about her being killed by a troll in the first year at Hogwarts. With a trembling lip he asked, "What will happen, Mum?"

"She'll probably be in Ravenclaw – you have to accept that if so then you won't see her in your common room or sit with her at mealtimes..."

Harry stared aghast.

"And she's so far ahead in many subjects they might..."

"What, Mum?"

"They might move her up a year. That means you won't see her in class either."

"NOOOO!" Harry jumped up onto his feet and raced away across the room. " _THEN I WON'T SEE HER AT ALL!"_ Wailing, Harry ran up to his bedroom and slammed the door.

"Well that went well," said Sirius, elbowing himself upright and leaning his weight forward.

Hestia sighed and said. "No, give him a few minutes then I'll go up and have a few words. It's nearly his bedtime anyway. No child should fall asleep heartbroken and alone."

Sirius sank back into his chair and sipped his tea. "Hest, do you think we're mollycoddling him a bit too much?"

"Sirius, he's only eight years old!"

"Nine in a couple of months." Sirius frowned. "What's he doing up there? Crying into his pillow?"

Hestia stared at her husband for a few moments, then crossed over, took his tea back onto the tray on the coffee table, then squeezed onto his lap. "Sirius, I'm almost twenty-eight but I'd cry if you and I were apart for too long. He thinks a lot of Hermione, you know."

"I know he does..." He gave his wife a squeeze around the waist and pulled her closer. "Whatever would I do without you?"

Hestia cocked one eyebrow. "Cry into your pillow?"

.

Business

Cathesis League affairs kept Hermione busy for the next few weeks so even by June neither she nor Harry had gotten their hands on a single mirror. And delaying his attempts even further, Sirius and Hestia had asked Mrs Granger if Harry could stay over for a few days while they were 'away on business'.

"What about Neville?" asked Hermione, moving across to the work bench in the garden shed. Sunlight from the little window glittered on the few Galleons that lay there in the plant pot in which they kept leftovers for the next crucible firing.

"He said he'd asked his dad how he'd keep his mum safe when they were in different places, and his dad showed him his mirror."

"Really? And...?"

"That's it. He wouldn't even let him hold it."

Hermione gave out a long soft groan. "And what's your mum and dad up to this week?"

"Dunno. Just said they'd got some family business to attend to."

"Family? So why didn't they take you as well?"

"They wanted me somewhere safe while they were busy."

"Busy? With family? Safe? What family? Surely they can't mean...?"

"I don't know, Hermione. I think they meant business _about_ family." He tried to wink but could only manage to slowly close and open both lids together.

Hermione's eyes spread as big and shiny as the Galleons in the flowerpot. What if Sirius had a lead on other members of the Black family – perhaps a connection with the Black Arc? They had both been members of the Order of the Phoenix. Had the Order reformed? Was that who they were working for this week?

She felt a nudge at her elbow. "Sun's in your eyes, Hermione," said Harry, a look of concern on his face.

"Mmm... so there's no chance they'll suddenly come for you this week?"

"Mum said they won't even be able to send an owl for a few days but I'm not to worry."

"Not to worry!" Hermione knew what meant from long experience but she couldn't tell Harry. "Then they'll be fine. Just family nonsense. Business papers. Grownup stuff. You'd be bored to tears."

Nodding but looking unconvinced, Harry said, "Why are you asking?"

Hermione took a deep breath, and snatched two of the Galleons before she changed her mind. "Remember once I said we'd have secret, dangerous missions to perform one day?"

Harry's expression took on an eager look as Hermione pulled out her adult wand and began a soft chant. He knew enough to keep quiet. The coins were quivering, trembling between Hermione's fingers. For a moment they seemed to fuse into one but by the time Harry had rubbed his eyes in disbelief, they were two normal Galleons again.

"Take my wand, Harry."

"What? Your grownup wand?" He did so.

"I'm going to teach you a spell that won't work with your trainer. This Galleon is yours. It's special; don't spend it or give it away. Press the tip of my wand against it and think hard of a short message."

Harry winced his eyes shut and tried really hard.

"Well?"

"What's supposed to happen? Nothing's happened."

"What was your message?"

"Erm... pickled onions," said Harry sheepishly.

"Pickled onions? How can anyone think hard about pickled onions?"

"Well, it's the first thing I thought of. Anyway, I like pickled onions," he added defensively.

"Well, try again but think of something significant or important you really mean."

Harry nodded and pressed the wand extra hard.

"Ow! It's getting hot."

"Good. That means it worked."

"So...?" Harry turned the coin over a couple of times.

"Don't look at the face and back – look at the rim."

"Ah! I put my words on the Galleon!" But then Harry frowned. "What's it for?"

"Now look at this other coin – _my_ coin."

Harry stared in wonder at the exact same message on the other coin. "Merlin's shaggy eyebrows!"

"Eh? Is that what you put?" Hermione took her coin back. " _Ravenclaw is rubbish?_ Why'd you put that?"

"Well they are. Everyone knows they're snooty swots and nobody's friend. I'd hate to be in that house. Anyone would. Wouldn't you?"

Hermione stared at him dumbfounded. "Don't let Luna ever hear you talk that way, Harry; she might well be in Ravenclaw, and proud of it."

"Then she's stupid!" cried Harry, throwing down his Galleon so it bounced off the bench onto the floor.

"Harry! What's got into you? What's this about Ravenclaw?"

"What if it were you, Hermione? In dumb stupid Ravenclaw! Then what would you do all on your own without any real friends?"

Comprehension dawned on Hermione's face. "It couldn't be me could it, because I'd refuse to go in Ravenclaw. I'd argue with the Sorting Hat until it begged for mercy. No way am I going in Ravenclaw, I'd say. I'm going in Gryffindor with Harry or die!"

"Really?" Harry's face brightened.

"Really. Besides, it's already sorted both you and me into Gryffindor once, so there's no reason for it to change."

Harry laughed.

"Right, now that's settled, we're going to Hogwarts today" – Harry squealed the name loudly but Hermione raised her voice – "and might have to stay a day or two. There's an important job for you to do, but it's secret, remember?"

Harry nodded his head vigorously.

"First I've got to get some snacks and things made up and ask Mum if it's alright to take you on a top secret mission. She'll hum and hah but she trusts me so it should be alright. If not, I'll have to think what she wants and say that's what we're after – like a magic shield to protect Dad."

Hermione winked and Harry laughed.

"But you must stay sharp, Harry. Be on your toes. Constant vigilance! Never overlook anything."

"I won't, Hermione, I promise!"

"Come along then. Oh, and don't forget your Galleon."

Harry grinned and ran sheepishly back for it.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Last chapter, Lily, a guest reviewer – you wondered about Rita Skeeter being on Hermione's shoulder (in her beetle form.) Well, Lily, that wasn't Rita, it really was just an aphid off the flowers, but it served to remind Hermione about the poisonous bitch._

 _Another guest reviewer, Skye – you asked why the Cathesis League took back Hermione so swiftly and accepted that she was reincarnated? The answer is, Skye, that is wasn't that swift. Time flies when you're enjoying a story! The Cathesis League broke up in November, 1987. The next year, Hermione met the Lovegoods and went on the Snorkack expedition in the summer, right? In November, 1988 was the Hyde Park fight, then Devil's Deep, then meeting the Weasleys at Christmas. It wasn't until Spring of 1989 – over a year after the split up, that Hermione rejoined them. Actually they'd all second thoughts soon after the break up but they had a year to stew over it and realise they needed her. The Garden of Eden advert had been published many times before Hermione saw it. As for them accepting her rebirth, she had already shown them the future memories in the Pensieve. Mike Worthing and the others already had a good idea there was more to it than 'memories of foresight experiences'. They simply needed clarification but really, they'd already figured out that she'd lived the future experiences she'd told them about. Remember these are magical folk who are used to time travel and supernatural events and they'd had lots of time to consider the events._

 _I've made huge progress this last week and I'm now over two chapters ahead beyond this one! I might even go back to weekly postings..._ :)

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	23. 0:Searching For Answers

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort died early, she has formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and ultimately seek cooperation between Muggles and Magical societies. But there are urgent needs to infiltrate Hogwarts in the summer of 1989. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 23**

 **Searching For Answers**

* * *

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Lessons To Be Learned

Even immaterially, Hermione knew she would not simply be able to pass through the Hogwarts magical wards without alerting someone – if at all. She stood solidly now with Harry below Honeydukes' shop and began the long walk through the tunnel to the school.

After they'd been walking for many minutes, Hermione began to contemplate their arrival. "I wish you might have first seen the castle shining across the lake," she sighed, "all lit up and reflecting in the dark water – instead of trudging up a gloomy passage to see the dullest hallways."

Harry saw the yearning in the eyes of his companion and knew she spoke mostly for herself.

Hermione continued, "There'll be no children and few staff. We'll have to avoid Dumbledore at all costs and possibly McGonagall, though she might not be there until later in the summer. Trelawney lives in but rarely comes out of her rooms. It'll just be ghosts for company."

"We'll see the castle how you said one day, Hermione, you and me." Harry held her hand as if for guidance, but the young girl was comforted by it.

She lit a wall torch to add a little cheer to her wand light, then they continued on their way.

"Let's go over my instructions one more time before we get there then."

Harry sighed and began to recite in a singsong voice, "Stay close together except when I'm searching Filch's office."

"And what are you searching for?"

"My dad's map but it's just a blank piece of parchment and there'll be lots of other blank parchments." Harry skirted a damp patch in the earthen floor of the tunnel and glanced back at how far they'd come. "I still don't see why you can't summon it, Hermione. You can summon anything."

"Because I can only summon what it is, and at the moment it really must be just a blank piece of parchment, not a map at all – I can't believe even Filch would have simply filed away such an awesome, powerful map if he could see what it was. No, it'll be blank, and if I try to summon it then we'll be buried in parchments all over the office – much of it torn to shreds from being ripped out of cabinet drawers. The mess and damage will take some clearing up and we won't know exactly where everything was. Plus, we still won't know which one will turn into the map without searching through them all."

Harry groaned as they turned a bend in the tunnel only to see another extensive length ahead of them. "How much further, my legs are falling off."

"Long enough for you to finish going over your instructions, Harry. Meanwhile, hang on to your legs, Harry, you'll need them."

With a sniff, Harry tried to recall what he'd been saying. "Oh, yes, the parchment will be folded four ways and very worn and dirty with the folds sharply creased and the edges ragged. Most blank parchments are either scrolls – rolled or flattened – or neat, clean pages. But not all. " Harry had chanted – mimicking Hermione's most bossy voice – the last few words.

"Cheeky. I don't sound like that at all."

"So why'd you think it was you I was 'personating?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Go on."

"Harry – I mean the _real_ Harry from the future – didn't–"

"Harry, you _are_ the real Harry," cut in Hermione, pausing to swap her lit wand from one raised hand to the other.

"Right, I never told you exactly where it was – the other _unreal_ Harry, I mean." He giggled.

"Harry, this is serious."

Harry pulled a face and rolled his eyes with such a severely mournful expression that Hermione laughed despite herself. "I don't _look_ like that either."

"So how'd you know it was meant to be you?" Harry grinned cheekily. "Now, where was I?"

"We don't know exactly where the map might be so we'll have to wing it when we get there. What else?"

"If I find a suitable parchment, I test it by tapping it with your wand and say, " _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."_

"And...?"

"I keep my Galleon handy. Any sound of anyone nearby, I duck and hide, press your wand to my coin and think of whoever or whatever it is."

"No. First you...?"

"Oh yeah, first quietly close any open drawer or cupboard so everything looks normal."

"And I'll be there in seconds so don't panic."

"Panic? Captain Potter spits on panic ten times a day afore eight bells toll."

Hermione sighed, wondering if Harry really yet was old enough to appreciate the difference between real life dangers and pirate fantasies.

"Harry," began Hermione very softly, "breaking into Hogwarts is an extremely serious matter. If you're caught then I don't know what would happen because it would be at the Headmaster's discretion. You might be barred from attending Hogwarts and you'd not see your friends again very often if at all. Furthermore, you might be compelled to reveal secrets – probably this route into Hogwarts. That would severely limit my activities. Was I wrong to bring you?"

A sense of shame descended through Harry's constricting throat, his chest, then settled in the pit of his stomach. He almost wished Hermione had become angry with him; the simple disappointment of his dearest friend was hard to bear. "Sorry, H'mione," he said meekly.

She nodded. "You'll be alright. Your bravery is not in question. But there are lessons to be learned and I don't want them to be too hard for you."

They walked along in silence. In less than twenty more paces, Harry had straightened his shoulders more resolutely and firmed up his expression. Hermione smiled and nodded to herself.

After a few more twists and turns the passage's earthen floor slowly gave way to stone and they found themselves ascending a chute. Loose dirt made it difficult not to slip back but as it became too steep for any soil to cling, they made better headway. At the top, the couple found themselves squeezed together inside a small, shaped space and, as instructed, Harry tapped the back with the wand. It opened outwards.

"Up you go, Harry, then help me out."

At last they were truly within Hogwarts – standing beside the statue of the humpbacked witch out from which they had just climbed. Hermione closed the hump and they proceeded very cautiously along the corridor.

"This is the third floor," whispered Hermione. "We need the ground floor at the front for starters."

Silently, they descended down to the Entrance Hall without seeing or hearing any sound other than the flicker and crackle of wall torches – and, Hermione observed, there seemed to be fewer of those lit than normal. She led Harry into the smelly blackness of Filch's windowless office and cast the tiniest glimmer-light over the filing cabinets.

"All these!" whispered Harry aghast at how many there were.

"No, not all – ignore the ones on the right which are to do with stores and equipment and so on. These four on the left are the ones you should concentrate on. Yes, it's a big job which might take a couple of days – that's why I couldn't spare the time. Start with either _Confiscations_ or _Temporary Confiscations_ then _Found Unclaimed_ but leave _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_ alone because I wouldn't trust anything in there and you might get hurt. Anyway, the map isn't dangerous – it's just blank parchment."

Harry pulled out the top drawer of _Confiscations_ and blew out a long breath of displeasure. "There's millions crammed in! Notes and leaflets and scraps of paper."

"Probably crib sheets and exam cheats most of them, but work through carefully, Harry, and try not to get sidetracked."

Harry nodded.

"And keep one ear open so you can hide if..." Hermione looked around. "It's hard to see where you can hide in here if Dumbledore or McGonagall hears you..."

"I'll pull this cupboard door open," said Harry, brightly. "Ugh!"

It was immediately clear where the odour had been coming from.

"It's full of confiscated snacks and sweets and other consumables. Whatever you do, don't touch any of it, Harry! It's probably tainted, hexed, cursed, who knows what," said Hermione. Memories of Nosebleed Nougat and Puking Pastilles came back to her – but not fondly.

"I know, but I can hide behind the open door – look." There was space between the door and the wall for Harry to crouch.

Hermione shook her head doubtfully.

Harry said, "It wasn't locked. How's M'Gonall to know if the cupboard was already open or not, so..."

"You're right. I doubt she'd look behind there. Anyway, I'll answer your Galleon alert and get you out." She took another look around. "So... you'll be alright? I'll be elsewhere in the castle, snooping for stuff less than half a minute away, and I'll pop in from time to time as well."

"Okay."

.

Harry's Exciting Little Adventure

The work began. It was thrilling being a trespasser in an ancient castle searching for lost treasure. Harry was the white knight who'd swam the moat and up through a shark infested tunnel into the villain's lair to rescue a fair maiden– No!"

He set his jawline more firmly. He wouldn't disappoint Hermione again. This was for real, a true adventure, and he had actual treasure to dig up.

His firm jaw sagged somewhat when he tried to prise his little fingers between the hundreds of parchments tightly packed together in the first drawer. There were dividers and card subdividers which helped, and once he'd winkled out the first folderful without ripping anything, the rest were a lot simpler to ease out.

Some of the documents drew his interest – lists of astonishing spell definitions and potion recipes, most in tiny writing to fit up someone's sleeve – and he had to force himself to keep searching. Occasionally he'd find a blank parchment and even if it were an unlikely candidate for Hermione's description, he'd touch it with the wand and swear very solemnly he was up to no good. But after an hour his attention lagged and he realised what a dreary chore he'd agreed to. He couldn't help but wonder what Hermione was doing.

 _I bet she's doing the really exciting stuff fighting hags and trolls while..._ He paused. Had he heard a faint sound outside? Somehow he wasn't quite ready yet to duel a real troll so he tried to cram his current pack of sheets back into the drawer, failed, panicked, then quietly elbowed shut the drawer, and, with the wad of parchments still in his arms, crouched behind the cupboard door, heart beating nineteen to the dozen, and fingers fumbling for his Galleon. At the last second, he remembered to turn off the wand light and was immediately immersed in total blackness.

A faint voice echoed from some far off corridor, " _Rather dull around here without the children, don't you think, Sir Nicholas?"_

" _My dear Friar, I completely agree..."_

Harry never heard the rest of the reply because the speaker's voice faded further and further away. He sighed with relief. Still, he'd done jolly well in the emergency, he told himself, not dropped anything or made a clatter, and, well, it had been like one of his practice sessions. Hermione would have been impressed. He lit the faintest wand glow possible and went back to work, but still thinking of his best friend...

.

First Few Drops

Hermione had made good progress since leaving Harry. Within fifteen minutes, she'd descended into the dungeons; 'borrowed indefinitely' the potions book that had belonged to the 'Half-blood Prince'; searched for and stolen some rare ingredients from the potions store, including Acromantula and Lobalug venom; and confirmed that Severus Snape was indeed employed here in his expected post, because his scribbled hand had been on most of the labels.

She shuddered – and not just at the cold wetness that was seeping out of a rusted pipe and trickling underfoot across the floor of the main dungeon passage – for in her head she could hear his voice again, _What is the meaning of this intrusion, Miss Granger?_ She tried instead to imagine him far away, sunbathing on a hot Riviera beach – still with long black robes and greasy hair – sipping pink champagne and scowling at any holidaymaker who came within range.

Hermione suppressed a snigger and checked her logbook. The library was next on her list. She'd be able to use a summoning charm to some extent but mostly it would be a long hard search – or rather, _two_ searches. She hurried upstairs.

"Accio Horcrux books," she whispered once she was in the Restricted Section. Hermione wasn't surprised when nothing so much as fluttered at her summons. Dumbledore had removed all the books in her previous life too, but she'd never been sure of when he'd done it exactly. Had it been when he was researching the subject himself after recognising what Riddle's diary had been? Or perhaps earlier?

She underlined the Plan B entry in her log to search the Headmaster's office at the first opportunity. That would be difficult with Dumbledore still resident through the holidays but she might have to look there anyway to find out anything about his refusing the Lovegoods a parental visit. If Pandora's death had been the cause of Luna _not_ attending Beauxbatons then saving Pandora might reverse that. More information was crucial.

She pushed the logbook back into her bag and rolled up her sleeves. Now the real work would begin and she had no expectations of her next summoning charm either.

"Accio _déjà vu_ books."

Nothing. Unsurprised that there were no books devoted to that subject, she resigned herself to searching through related topics manually.

Almost two hours passed swiftly without any useful results. The common opinion among the few wizards who'd heard of the expression was that _déjà vu_ was a Muggle term for brief accidental foreknowledge similar to the rare insights that young magical children experienced during emotional upheavals. Most dismissed it as imaginary, and the only believers were those rare wizards who considered that a few Muggles might possibly have traces of uncontrolled magic. The hunt had not yielded the flood of understanding she'd hoped for, but at least she'd discovered a sprinkle of information to start the flow.

After putting back the final book she'd found, Hermione headed off to check Harry. It had been too long to leave him alone and she was annoyed with herself for doing so.

.

A Hard Day at the Office

"Any luck, Harry?" Hermione said after carefully reentering Filch's office.

Harry blew air. "No, and I'm not even halfway down this cabinet."

"Sorry, Harry, but adventuring's not all about fighting pirates." She ruffled her fingers through his hair.

"Yeah, I guess..." He looked up as he completed his latest folder. "What are you searching for, Hermione?"

"Well, one thing is..."

"What?"

"Luna told me that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let her and her mother visit Hogwarts – you know, to compare it with Beauxbatons. I wanted to find out why. Don't tell her I said this but maybe Mrs Lovegood would be more eager for Luna to come here if I found a way for her to visit."

Interest piqued, Harry said, "It's not fair! We have to stop her going to Beauxbatons!"

"No, Harry, if that's what Luna and her mum want, then it's their choice not ours to make. Besides, I don't think Luna was too happy in her early years here during my other life, I mean. She didn't have any friends except Ginny far off in Gryffindor and some of the other Ravenclaws were unkind to her "

Harry's eyes flared and he raised a fist. "I'll fight them if they hurt Luna!"

"Maybe I will too now I know better," said Hermione. "I'm certainly not going to stand idly by."

"We'll fight them together!"

Hermione grinned at her friend. "Probably we'll need to think of something more subtle like stinging hexes on her stuff – they used to take her things, can you believe it? Come on, let's have lunch."

They ate sandwiches together in the Room of Requirement – reshaped to how Hermione remembered it housing the D.A. before the Great Battle – then resumed their searching. Both were mentally weary by the time they returned after an unsuccessful afternoon each, and ate dinner in relative silence. She tucked him in bed about seven-forty, cast a Patronus to inform her mother they were both safe and well, then sat up thinking for a long while into the night.

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The Oracle

The next morning was almost over before Hermione had any success at all. She'd taken a break to do some light reading about the Parcae – the Fates who where the only link between her two lives. There were indications that her situation, while exceedingly rare, was not unique. A translation written in the margins of an ancient Greek codex caught her special attention:

 _Chronos took me thence to my youth  
and I beheld the Moirai no more.  
Yet oft did I slip back moments by  
their influence in lament and will._

 _\- Phemonoe_

Hermione read and re-read sections of the excerpt, _...oft didst I slip back moments..._ until her head was spinning. _...slip back moments..._ _...slip back moments..._ Was this what had happened to herself? Were her _déjà vu_ experiences not false memories nor even foresight but actually slipping back and reliving those moments again? Had Farrimond truly flown off twice to seek Aculus?

Resting her forehead in her uplifted hands, she struggled to piece the evidence together. _I was consumed by regret after sending away Farrimond – because he might have died. Did the emotion itself provide a second chance to change my mind?_ She recalled her lament at giving away to Sirius her knowledge of Bellatrix being married to Lestrange, which no explanation could reasonably excuse without suspicion. _Yes! I had a second chance then, outside the ice cream parlour! It enabled me to cover up my mistake!_

Eagerly she opened her eyes to peruse the document before her once again. Who was Phemonoe? Was she not the first priestess of the temple at Delphi? _The Oracle Of Delphi!_

In the silent library, Hermione leapt to her feet and almost danced with excitement. _That's how Phemonoe predicted the future – she'd lived it before, just like me!_

Her finger ran over the small excerpt, devouring every word, milking it for every tiny drop of information. That 'Moirai' was the Greek word for the Fates, she already knew. Everything was so clear! Phemonoe had met with them and she had returned to her childhood - crediting it in her belief to the god of time: Chronos!

One further word demanded an explanation: 'will'. ... _in lament and will._ Was it feasible to slip back moments in time by an act of will? Could she control it?

For several minutes Hermione struggled to will herself back a few minutes to when she'd discovered the document but to no avail. She tried again, forcing herself to feel the same regret she'd experienced when sending Farrimond away. Nothing happened. Clearly it could not be faked. Somehow it was all connected. Her encounter with the Fates was filled with a lifetime of bitter remorse and an immense will to help Harry. Yes, together with her death, _that_ had carried her back a complete lifetime. Her last breath, which had somehow wafted Tom Riddle's dark thread to his early death, had been fortuitous but incidental. In the same way, might she now be able to will herself back a few moments whenever she truly regretted her actions?

But why her? There was nothing particularly special about herself. Phemonoe was said to be the offspring of a deity while she herself was merely the daughter of a dentist.

She smiled to herself, and the stress of her arduous searching faded away. An idea had occurred to her – an idea she'd wondered about at the end of her previous life. Had she been the very last magical person left alive? It was possible. Most wizards had perished with the Muggles and the few remaining had been hunted down and killed – a true witch hunt by a frantic remnant of humankind. Had all Earth's remaining magic resided solely within herself and funnelled back with her? The responsibility was terrifying.

" _Enough!"_ she murmured.

Carefully, she closed the delicate codex and took it back to the shelves. It had been a tough morning. She went off to join Harry for lunch.

.

Hidden Feelings

"I was halfway down the second cabinet, Hermione, are you sure it's there? How did Fred and George find it?" Harry took a bite of his turkey sandwich and watched his friend as he munched.

"It _has_ to be there. It must have been confiscated when both your fathers were at school and it was still there when Fred and George found it in their first year – which starts in a couple of months' time so we'd best find it before they do!"

Harry groaned through a mouthful of turkey. "I'll look like a parchment before I'm done. Can't we swap? I'll do what you're doing?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the bunk upon which she was sitting. "Perhaps a change _is_ as good as a rest. Yes. Okay, You need to go to McGonagall's office and search through twenty filing cabinets and a thousand years of letters, messages, and memos, for anything from the Lovegoods – but there's no guarantee anything will be there at all. Oh yes, and McGonagall will probably be lurking about, possibly even transfigured as a cat. Meanwhile, I'll look for the map."

For a few moments Harry stared, then he realised Hermione was quite serious. "On second thoughts," he said, "I owe it to both my fathers to rescue their map and I'm bound to find it soon."

Hermione hadn't been exaggerating. McGonagall really was in her office when Hermione floated cautiously, invisibly, and immaterially inside. The room and the professor were just as she remembered them, and for several seconds, Hermione fought with her own emotions. The professor had been there for Hermione through thick and thin, but Hermione had not been present to support McGonagall during her lone, valiant stand in Hogsmeade: protecting Muggle-born students against an attack by dark wizards – to the death.

An invisible teardrop was left floating near the wall as the young girl drifted over to the long row of filing cabinets and forced herself to examine the neatly-written labels on the drawers. No body heat nor scent could give away her presence, so long as she didn't speak, she was undetectable. McGonagall continued working away at her desk, oblivious to Hermione's ghostly manoeuvres.

All the labels were organised as she remembered from her own time working at Hogwarts. She'd stood-in often enough for both the deputy headmaster of the time – Flitwick – and for the headmistress, McGonagall, when they'd had other business to attend to away from the school. But even after she'd located the cabinet with the most recent communications, she dare not open the drawer nor try a summoning charm for fear of being noticed.

There was one particular advantage in being a very small child: she squeezed herself into the tiny space beyond the cabinets – where, in her former life, the side wall had been magically pushed back and new cabinets added. There, sitting on the carpet with her back to the wall, she dismissed her exhausting immateriality spell but remained invisible and alert – ready in case McGonagall came anywhere near. Then she waited. And waited.

During most of the next hour there was little sound except the rustle of paper or the scratching of McGonagall's quill. At three o'clock a tiny brass bird popped out from the mantel clock to toot the hour, and a tray of tea and ginger newts was promptly produced from somewhere. The woman stood at the open window while she dunked the biscuits and refreshed herself, as was her habit.

Hermione suppressed a groan. Five minutes. ... Almost ten. How much longer? A temptation arose to Confund McGonagall while Hermione carried out a quick search but the girl would never yield to such an outrageous notion. Use a nasty spell like that on her favourite teacher? Not likely. But another idea did rise to her thoughts, and Hermione almost giggled. Wandlessly she moved her hands in a delicate gathering action.

McGonagall sighed, put down her cup, and went into the toilet adjoining her office. Quick as she could, Hermione wriggled out and very, very slowly pulled open the drawer. Internally, the cabinet was magically extended and held enough paper to have started the Great Fire of London – probably had, going by the age and condition of some of the material. As the seconds ticked by she perused the top of them wondering if she dare try using magic to retrieve what she sought.

"Accio Lovegood letters," she whispered.

Nothing. Faintly outside, she heard the sound of a toilet flushing.

Hermione tried again. "Accio memos about the Lovegoods."

A single sheet tugged itself upwards and Hermione grasped it before it could fly up to her.

Running water: McGonagall was washing her hands.

Hermione Geminio'd the paper while it was still only half out of its position, pushed it back, and slid the drawer quietly shut just as McGonagall walked back into the room, pushing the door closed behind her with one heel.

Too late! Hermione had to let the visible copy fall from her hand to the floor. McGonagall frowned and raised her wand. With a flick the paper flew up onto the top of the cabinet.

"Draughty old castle," the teacher muttered to herself, and walked over to pour herself another cup of tea.

Reprieved for the moment, Hermione looked for another sheet of paper to substitute for the one she wanted – it wouldn't do for McGonagall to think anyone had been reading about the Lovegoods when she came to file it away. But there was nothing remotely similar in size to the memo – not that could be seen on any shelf or table anywhere.

A crunch told her McGonagall was eating another biscuit. They smelt fresh-baked and the delicious aroma was tantalising. _I'll have to become immaterial again if my stomach begins to rumble!_

Wordlessly, Hermione duplicated the duplicate, put the original duplicate into her invisible pocket where it disappeared, then squeezed back into her hiding place to try to think of a solution. It would not be easy to vanish the writing of the paper still out on top – at least not convincingly and blindly from where she was – and a blank memo might look odd. It would be easier to reword it but that would take minutes of careful work in full view.

Watchful not to crackle the paper in her pocket, she eased it out and examined its layout. It was a standard staff memo from Dumbledore with the usual header. Below, the message was brief. Perhaps she could reword _this_ copy then swap them later!

Biting her lip, she tried to think of an innocuous substitute message. The original began _Minerva_ – that needn't be changed.

 _Tell her politely, no – I'm sure you can make up some excuse. We know what Pandora's after up there and I think it best remain lost. I don't believe the Lovegoods are connected to the Floo network. Perhaps you'd better send her a nicely purring Patronus with my apologies rather than owl? Thank you, Minerva._

Hermione stared in astonishment. Vaguely she was aware of McGonagall crossing the room again. Was she going to put away the other paper now? Would she read it?

Silence.

Hermione peeked around the cabinet. The professor was back at her desk reaching for her quill. The brass bird tooted a quarter past the hour. A fly buzzed in the window. All was back to normal. It was hard not to sigh with relief when you really wanted to.

Her attention back on the memo, Hermione frowned, her thoughts divided for a few moments, then she decided to change the paper before giving further consideration to Dumbledore's meaning. A great deal of focus was needed but gradually she swirled the characters around, reshaped some, removed many, until she had a new, briefer message with no context but still the old date.

 _Thanks for your last. Good work._

Hopefully, McGonagall would simply glance at it and stuff it away – she had more important work to do.

Now Hermione need only swap the two papers and she could leave...

Why did it suddenly seem rather quiet? Hermione froze! The sound of McGonagall's quill had stopped. A swish of robes. Soft footsteps on carpet. A rustle of paper. Was she reading the memo? Hermione eased her invisible nose out to see...

"Got you!" cried McGonagall. Stunned, the housefly was hovered out of the window by the professor before it had a chance at the ginger newts.

While McGonagall was closing the window, Hermione switched the papers and fled back down to Harry.

.

Fitting the Pieces Together

"There aren't so many 'Unclaimed', Hermione! I'm nearly down to three-quarters."

"But no map?"

Harry's face fell. He'd been thrilled by his progress but had almost forgotten his real purpose.

"Never mind, I found out something," said Hermione, handing him the memo.

She looked around the office. "Let's quit early today, I'm longing for a ginger newt and a cup of tea."

"What's it mean though?" said Harry, scrutinising the paper in his hand. " _Thanks for your last?"_

"Not sure yet – what?" She snatched the memo back. _Damn!_ "It means, Harry, I got the wrong note. How, I don't know, but if Minerva – I mean Professor McGonagall – reads that other one then it could mean trouble."

Hermione grumbled softly to herself all the way up to the Room of Requirement. Harry kept his mouth shut. She plunked herself down on the edge of her bunk, summoned a table forward, then tea and biscuits appeared.

Harry grinned. "That's definitely one you'll have to teach me, Hermione."

She shook her head. "It's the same magic that puts food on the plates in the Great Hall from the kitchens – you'll see. It won't work for students directly though; teachers' privileges only."

"So you're still a professor?" Harry reached for a newt and crunched on it hard.

Hermione nodded. "Not on the physical records, but all my memories and my magic came back with me from my other life. The castle recognises my magic as that of a Hogwarts teacher. I suppose it would let me into the staff chambers without challenge. Maybe I'll remember one or two other perks. Once a Hogwarts professor, always a Hogwarts professor," said Hermione with her head high.

"A professor who fetches the wrong note," giggled Harry who had just discovered that ginger newts are far superior dunked than dry, and the tail makes a useful handle.

A slow head nod was Hermione's reply. "I copied the note and changed one of them but must have... no wait... Geminio is a bit peculiar sometimes. Maybe when I copied the copy then changed the original copy then the copied copy assumed the same form as the one it was copied from because that was changed magically, see?" – Harry gawped a horrible open mouthful of half-chewed biscuit – "But," continued Hermione, "it's like conjuring – they don't last anyway. I don't think she'll see the original wording – but neither will I now."

"Can you remember what was on the original?" Harry reached for a fifth biscuit while Hermione was distracted, trying to remember.

"No, not really." She put down her cup and lay back on the bunk bed. "Let me think for a bit."

Harry was happy to oblige, reached for another ginger newt, then lounged back on his own bunk adjacent to Hermione's.

"It was about Mrs Lovegood being after something on one of the upper floors – probably the Ravenclaw tower I should think, since that was her house. Maybe she'd left something behind when she was at school."

"Why didn't she just ask the Headmaster?"

"Mmm... well if she didn't want him to know what it was perhaps – though he seems to have guessed. Anyway, it's lost so that's that."

"A lost Ravenclaw tower shouldn't be hard to find."

"Not the tower, silly!" Hermione thought for a minute, an old memory nagging. "Say that again."

"I said, a lost Ravenclaw tower shouldn't be hard to find."

"My goodness!" Hermione sat upright, eyes blazing. "She's after the lost diadem of Ravenclaw!" She clutched one hand to her forehead. "Oh. My. God! It all makes sense! Xeno had been trying to make a working duplicate in my former life!" She looked at Harry who was considering an attempt to stretch for another biscuit. "It bestows wisdom you see!"

"Right," said Harry, wondering if he might persuade Hermione to lob him another biscuit to save him getting up.

She lay back, thinking some more, then, in a flash, all was clear. "I know it all now, I know it all. She's smart. Beauxbatons is a ruse. She must have told Dumbledore that so as to encourage him to let her and Luna visit Hogwarts as well – hoping he would not want to lose a student to the competition. Yes, she's clever. Probably really has arranged a visit to Beauxbatons in case Dumbledore checked with Madame Maxime.

"But why?"

Hermione rolled over on her side to face Harry and her eagerness was lit up by the flickering candle on the table. "Mrs Lovegood has been working hard to improve the teaching charm – you know, the one Madam Gawtley used to teach you to read? She said so, remember? Creating that kind of intelligent magic is notoriously difficult – rather like magical painting with which it is related and at which Mrs Lovegood is already rather splendidly gifted. But I'm guessing that guiding and instructing spells are vastly more difficult even than that – it's never been done before at such an advanced level, you see."

Hermione gasped and her eyes searched around vacantly for a new thought. "That's why she died."

"WHAT!" Harry leapt up, crumbs flying everywhere but biscuits utterly forgotten. "Not Luna's mum!"

Hermione sat up too now. "Sorry, Harry, you mustn't mention this to Luna."

"But her mum can't die, Hermione, she just can't."

"This is why she wants the diadem," murmured Hermione, still thinking it out. "And why she died before because she failed to find it. She needs its wisdom to help her complete the teaching spell. But she can never find it because it's not even hidden in the Room of – _this_ room – no, it's still in Albania. Riddle never tried to get it from the Grey Lady because he never made any..." She stopped herself uttering the ugly word in front of Harry.

"Albania? Wha–?" Harry had long since lost track of any meaning in what she was saying.

"But Pandora tried to create the spell without that wisdom," continued Hermione, thinking aloud for Harry's sake, "and it turned on her magic the worst possible way. She died from it. She's driven, Harry. She knows it's foolish but she's driven by..."

And then the last piece of the jigsaw fell into place. "She's doing it all for Luna. That's why she couldn't stop herself trying, despite the enormous risk. Because of her love for Luna."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Ten points to Gryffindor if you spotted the clue Hermione missed and that might get Harry in trouble. Was it a bit OTT of Hermione (and me!) to 'risk' Harry (not quite 9 years old) on this mission to Hogwarts? My view is that Dumbledore wouldn't expel Harry for this relatively harmless escapade and Hermione hopes to introduce Harry gradually to the kind of difficulties he's likely to face in his life._ :)

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	24. 0:Discovered!

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort died early, she has formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and ultimately seek cooperation between Muggles and Magical societies. Still aged only 8 and 9, Harry and Hermione have sneaked into Hogwarts during the summer holidays to search for information to help with their plans. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 24**

 **Discovered!**

* * *

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Unfinished Business

 _Pandora is going to die all over again._ Hermione could not sleep for worrying about Luna's mother. Without Ravenclaw's Diadem, Mrs Lovegood, clever though she was, would not have the wisdom to create her new teaching magic correctly. The attempt would backfire and consume her life utterly.

The Mirror of Erised could read desires, the Room of Requirement went a step further and knew one's needs, and magical portraits provided a valid interaction with the knowledge and will of the subject painted. All incorporated the most advanced enchantment ever known: a magical _representation_ of life itself. Oh, it was not a true life, Hermione knew, more akin to an interactive video game in the Muggle world. Nevertheless, animated magical energy could change real events in the world as surely as a living wizard might: witness the Sorting Hat. But Pandora's plan was to push magic in a new direction – as a teaching aid!

 _What a wonder!_ Hermione mused dozily, _Imagine Professor Binns as conjured genie not confused ghost! Stuck in a rut no longer, but rising from a potion bottle to give us three wishes... Yes? Granger, isn't it? Yes sir! Might I have a library of my own? Certainly, Miss Granger! With every book ever written? There it is... And down the aisles strode many magical portraits of Madam Pince quite out of their painting – an army of them – and each eager to bring to life whichever book one wished: Robinson Crusoe: "It is an inexpressible joy to me, Miss Granger, to behold another living soul..." Here comes Darcy: "My Dear Miss Hermione, welcome to Pemberley!" ... Frankenstein's monster..._

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE! WAKE UP! You're shouting!"

"Aaaah...!"

"Hermione!"

"Wha...?"

"Was it a dream?"

Hermione groaned as her eyes squinted open. "A nightmare. What time is it, Harry?"

"Nearly eight. Can you summon breakfast? There's no snacks or sandwiches left."

Hermione pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed. "Yes, sorry. Been waiting long?"

A water jug and bowl stood on a cabinet close at hand. She doused her face liberally.

"Harry?"

He was busying himself with feints using the adult wand.

"What time did you get up, Harry?"

"Just before seven."

"Oh, Harry, you needn't have waited so long to eat. You could have woken me."

Wandlessly a large pile of bacon sandwiches appeared and a pot of tea. Harry dived at them. "You were really tired out with worry last night. I didn't want to disturb you so early."

Hermione smiled, watching the boy devour the sandwiches. "Hopefully this will be our last day here, then you can get back to normal meals. I only have to search the Headmaster's office then I can help you find the map."

"What about Luna's mum?" He frowned at her accusingly over a big chunk of bread higher than his nose.

"I don't think arguing with Mrs Lovegood will help – I'm only a child after all. It would be impossible for me to persuade her to give up her dream. And she'll wonder how I know and why I'm concerned."

She sat down on her bunk again.

"But can't the gay lady in _Ar'b–Ar'bania_ help her?"

Hermione snuffed. The former Riddle's guile had charmed the Grey Lady to reveal the whereabouts of the diadem, so had the older Harry's sincerity, but Hermione knew she herself lacked their charisma. "The Grey Lady's never told anyone but two handsome young men in a thousand years – and no one in this lifetime. She's not going to tell a little girl."

"Then think what _she_ wants. Tell her it's to get a magic shield to protect her dad, like you said you'd tell your mum – she'll have to then. Anyone would if it were their dad."

Hermione gave a wry smile. "She's a ghost, Harry."

"A real ghost?" Harry paused in his chewing. "So what do ghosts want? Mum says they stay here because of unfinished business."

Hermione thought about that for a while. What _did_ the Grey Lady want? What was her unfinished business? The girl lay back thinking while Harry watched.

"Why not just ask her what she wants?" said Harry, "that's what I'd do."

Hermione gave him a long stare then jumped up. "Stay here. I'll be back in less than say... twenty minutes or so."

"Are you going to see the gay lady?"

"Yes, Harry. ... I'm going to see the gay lady."

.

The Grey Lady's Dilemma

Searching for the Grey Lady was a mistake, Hermione quickly realised. Summoning the Horcrux books in Dumbledore's office first would have made more sense, then she could have taken Harry down to Filch's office and together they would have surely found the map this morning and used it to find the ghost. Without it, well, the castle was very large and she might be anywhere.

The invisible girl began with the larger halls because one sweep of the eyes took in a sizeable area and ghosts often met there, then decided to ascend the Ravenclaw Tower as a promising location to investigate. Luck was with her; within fifteen minutes a far-off glimpse of silvery movement caught her eye. _How best to close in on the ghost?_ wondered Hermione. Helena was somewhat timid of company, so perhaps an honest, open visit was the best policy: Hermione cancelled the concealment spell.

"Who's there! What do you want!"

Hermione was not yet within thirty paces up the long corridor but called out, "Hello... erm... I want to help you."

"I need not your assistance. Leave!" The Grey Lady turned her back upon the intruder.

"Might I not at least explain myself, Lady Helena?" Hermione had halved the distance – then decided to remain at that non-threatening position.

The spectre whirled around. "How knowest thou my name?"

"I know a great deal," replied Hermione in a cautious tone. "Of your hopes and failures and... how you were slain."

Eyes flashed in the translucent face, then, as quickly, the brightness faded. "I am without hope. Leave me be."

"What is it you need?"

"That is none of your concern!" The Grey Lady turned again and glided further along the gloomy passageway where she paused and spoke over her shoulder, "How came you here? No students e'er remain through the long dreary summers." Facing Hermione once more, she added, "You lack enough years. Who are you? How did you get in and why?"

"I came to help you gain what is yours."

"I have naught to regain."

"Everyone has the right to peace of mind. Perhaps you've a debt to repay? Tell me what you need."

A frown creased the Grey Lady's brow and she drifted closer. "You pry into what you do not understand."

"I know what you took from your mother."

Shocked silence lasted a very long moment, then, with a shriek, Helena's icy form passed right through Hermione, and she flew back the way they'd come. "LEAVE ME NOW!"

Nor did the ghost halt when she reached the far wall, but continued through as if the stone were not solid. Lady Helena's astonishment was great when Hermione joined her in a group of chambers that appeared sealed off from the rest of the castle, for the only door was blocked in and barely visible. Though sunlight filtered dustily down through the ancient casement windows, bleak and cheerless was the atmosphere.

"What art thou!" frowned the apparition. "I have never seen your like."

As translucent and immaterial as the ghost herself, Hermione persisted. "I was right, wasn't I? A sense of guilt binds you? Is this where you try to hide from yourself?"

"I know you seek the diadem. You will not find it."

"I SEEK TO HELP YOU!" cried Hermione, certain now that she was on the most promising path, for the Grey Lady could find no further escape as she drifted from room to room pursued by the girl. Hermione observed the layout and an idea occurred to her.

"Were these your mother's chambers – when she resided at the school?"

"What of it?" Helena had given up on her flight, but remained defensive.

"She was devoted to Hogwarts. Was that why she created the diadem? To influence her decisions? Could her purpose have been for the school to be ever guided by wise choices?"

"Without knowing it, I destroyed her dream," said the ghost mournfully.

"Then to recover your happiness once more, you must return the diadem to the school."

"You know I have not the means. I am tied here within its boundaries."

"You have me," said Hermione quietly.

"None can be trusted with its knowledge! In time its power corrupts. It was ever so."

"It can be entrusted to you." Hermione watched Helena carefully. "You alone cannot be corrupted by it ever again."

The Grey lady laughed dryly. "Because I can no longer put to use _any_ material device! A ghost is without power!"

"You're wrong. A ghost has the power to influence, to persuade, and, with my help, to control the use of the diadem."

"How?"

The Lady floated nearer, but Hermione could sense no chill.

"The diadem might be locked by an enchantment which will respond only to your presence. One hour in a year could it be used, and then only by your leave, after which the charm will reclaim it for when next it is needed."

Helena stared. "Is this possible?"

"It has come to my knowledge that there is one with the power to create such impressive magic. She seeks to magically assist and improve tuition at Hogwarts. That seems a worthy objective that your mother, Rowena Ravenclaw, would welcome. Perhaps in time it would repay your debt to her and ease the burden you have borne all these centuries."

The Grey Lady's mouth fell open but she did not answer. Instead, she glided to the casement to gaze upon the waters of the lake. She blended into the scene, thought Hermione, as though standing there so often through the centuries had fixed her tenuous image within a living photograph.

"There – you see I can be of use." Hermione had cleansed the panes with a scouring charm. "Perhaps now you can see more clearly."

Helena nodded. "I do. And for the first time in a great many years."

Perhaps it was the sunlight passing through her expression, but there was a warmth that had not been there before. No one else could overhear her, yet she leaned forward and began to whisper into Hermione's ear.

.

While the Cat's Away

A shock awaited Hermione on her return to the Room of Requirement: Harry was gone. She knew at once, of course, where he must be. No use employing her Galleon to call him back, for the greatest danger was walking the passages where he might run into McGonagall or Dumbledore.

Invisibly she ran as lightly as possible down the stairs by the route that passed the deputy Headmistress's office. With relief she saw McGonagall stretched out in cat form, soaking up the warm sun upon the window sill in the outer corridor. The castle did have a tendency to cling to the cool night air for most of the morning.

On went Hermione towards the marble staircase, then she stopped and looked back. A sickening feeling spread roots through her stomach. That was not McGonagall! There was only one other cat it could be!

The warmth of her charmed Galleon was sensed just in time before she became immaterial once more. Down she sped.

Hermione could hear Filch ranting even before she swept through the wall.

"I know you're here! Come on out, you nasty little gremlin!"

The contents of the office were somewhat turned about, with papers scattered, the desk turned from its wall, and a chair upset. The door to Filch's bunk room was open and so was the big cupboard door. Was Harry cowering behind it or in the bedroom?

"I'll have you!" Filch cried gleefully, his jowls unpleasantly aquiver, "Wait and see if I don't! Mrs Norris will sniff you out!" He strode through the open door – but not far; Hermione could hear him right outside. "Mrs Norris! Come, my sweet! There's work to be done!"

Without delay, Hermione leaned through the cupboard door, saw Harry crunched up so tightly in the corner he almost merged with the peeling paintwork, moved fully through, materialised, seized Harry invisibly much to his shock, then swept him up into the empty classroom above – and all in the blink of an eye.

He was shaking. "Hermione?"

She rendered herself visible once more and said stiffly, "Yes!"

The sound of Filch's voice could still be heard coming distantly up the stair. "Mrs Norris will find you Peeves. I'll have you thrown out for sure this time!"

"He supposes it must have been Peeves." Hermione relaxed a little, then stiffened again to address Harry. "What were you thinking?"

Harry winced under her baleful glare. "I only did what we normally do!"

"Normally I see you safely through the passageways! What if you'd ran into Peeves? I told you about him. He'd have reported you for sure."

"Well I was careful," said Harry, sullenly.

Hermione released her breath, wondering how to soften the blow. "Oh well... find anything?"

A shake of the head was the only response.

"We're in a fix now. It's not safe for you to go there again. I'll have to do it."

Harry trudged off to the farthest side of the room and stared at the wall, breathlessly muttering, "Not m-my f-fault can't be 'visible..."

With a faint sigh, Hermione decided to give him some space while she did some thinking. _Albania,_ the Grey Lady had confirmed. When would Hermione ever find time to visit Albania? And how? There was no way to Apparate to somewhere she'd never been because of the three Dees: Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. Determination was strong enough but no wizard could deliberate and focus on a destination they'd never experienced; not even a photograph was good enough. In addition, she'd never mastered the Portus spell because it was likely one needed some measure of Ministry magic her level of employment there had not attained.

That left the Headmaster's office. No sooner had the thought entered her head than she heard his familiar voice far off:

"What is it, Argus?"

"Peeves, sir."

The voices were fading so Hermione opened the classroom door a crack.

"Been in my cupboard, Headmaster. Door was open."

"What has been taken?"

"Nothing taken, sir, but–"

"Argus, the crime of opening one cupboard door hardly justifies the removal of our colourful poltergeist from Hogwarts. You were called in for one day to attend to a tiny leak in the basement. In the circumstances, do you not think that–?"

There was a pause, and Hermione leaned out into the corridor, straining to hear more.

"Just opened a door, is all?" Dumbledore was saying. "That's hardly Peeves' style. Perhaps I _had_ better take a look."

Hermione ducked back into the classroom. "Quickly, Harry, another urgent mission for you! We have to work together on this one."

.

Head's Down

She ran over to him. His face was brightening already. She swept him outside and up the outer wall of the tallest tower before he could draw breath. Hovering outside the Headmaster's office window, she cautioned him. "There are portraits in there, Harry. We must remain invisible and only whisper if essential. And we have to be solid to handle papers, so take great care not to make any sound. I know I can trust you."

He nodded excitedly then, remembering his invisibility, whispered, "Yes, I can do it!" Hermione fancied he'd raised an exultant fist but she couldn't be sure.

Once inside, she cast a remote charm beyond the door to give her some warning should Dumbledore return, then nonverbally she summoned anything to do with Horcruxes. She cursed immediately. Numerous papers fluttered towards her and two books thumped softly on the carpet, one slightly tilted up oddly against her invisible foot. She froze.

" _Mmm... Dumbledore? Is that you?"_

Hermione looked around then and noticed all the portraits were empty, save one: it was Dippet. He appeared preoccupied because Hermione could see the top of a quill moving back and forth as if the former headmaster was writing on a parchment slightly out of view. Hopefully, all the other pictures were on holiday elsewhere in the castle or in their family homes.

After a few more moments she moved her foot and began wondering where all the other Horcrux books were and where Harry was. She reached out and her fingertips brushed his arm.

"Harry," she whispered as quietly as she could into where she judged his ear to be, "search the papers for anything with uumm... 'library' or 'Riddle' on it."

Hermione glanced instinctively at her invisible watch then, with a muted " _humph!_ " at one of the several clocks in the room; there would not be much time – perhaps only two or three minutes. Carefully she retrieved the book near the edge of her shoe then began examining it for any clue as to why Riddle might not have read it.

Occasionally she heard a faint rustle from Harry with the papers but otherwise the only sounds were the ticking of the clocks and other magical apparatus in the room. Another soft noise alerted her to the presence of Fawkes – she'd forgotten about the phoenix – but he seemed to be dozing with his head under one wing.

Apart from an irrelevant scribble on the inside cover, she discovered nothing. After a little more thought she vaguely remembered the book itself; it was unimportant, with only a passing reference to an ancient use of a Horcrux and nothing more. She began to flip through to make sure – only then might she eliminate it as a prospect.

A tickle on her nose alerted her that Dumbledore was returning. _Damn!_ She'd been foolish to risk this, and for nothing: there'd been insufficient time for Harry to read anything more than one or two of the sheets of the paperwork they'd retrieved. She hurriedly banished all of them back to where they belonged and her book too. Where was the other book? Somehow it had moved onto a cabinet. Dumbledore would walk in through the door at any second...

"Harry?" she breathed desperately.

The book moved silently towards her, she seized it, banished it away, and grabbed out for Harry's arm... the door opened...

"Most odd..." muttered the Headmaster as he shuffled towards his desk.

" _What's that, Dumbledore?"_ yawned Dippet, looking up.

"Nothing of consequence, I don't suppose, Armando. "I believe a student has forgotten a hungry pet – perhaps a Kneazle. Quite clever they are you know. I laid a trap should it return, but more likely we'll find the poor thing coughing up dung bombs in one of the passageways."

Hermione and Harry listened carefully outside the window, then drifted away, heading towards a window on the seventh floor.

"A trap?" whispered Harry.

"We need to be very, very careful, Harry..."

.

The Bookmark

Hermione sat on her bunk staring morosely at the floor. "I should have waited," she muttered to herself. "Now we can't do anything for a while. Goodness knows when we'll get another chance."

"Hermione..."

"Let the dust settle for a while. One more day then you must be back home in case your parents return early. I'll have to come here again another – Heavens! When can I fit it in now?"

"Hermione..."

"It wasn't your fault, Harry. I just seized the moment. One could wait for weeks to catch the Headmaster out of his office except – except at mealtimes! Of course! Listen, Harry..."

"Hermione, this note was sticking out of the book that was on the floor."

"We'll keep watch invisibly near the Great Hall then – sorry, what?"

"This was marking a place in that book."

Hermione took the note from Harry, then examined closely the script which was so faded it seemed to belong to another age. The message was written in a neat hand, but tiny and cramped as though the words had been put down under great tension – or perhaps furtively:

 _Albus, these are the only two left on the library shelves but I do not consider them dangerous as were the others that Miss Pince accidentally vanished two years ago. That makes sense or else Riddle would no doubt have borrowed these too._

 _You recall that when you asked me to inform you of any especially dark books that Tom borrowed, I advised you topics and titles are not particularly scrutinised until they are returned. At that time, I, or my assistant, naturally must look at the subject matter and title in order to put them on the correct shelves. The only other occasion might be if books are not received back by the due date. I believe we are most fortunate that young Irma eliminated those books because otherwise we might not have become aware of his having accessed them until two weeks later. What might he have learned in that time!_

 _I must add that I was greatly saddened by the loss of Irma's best friends, Myrtle and ... Olive, I believe – oh, I'm embarrassed to admit I can't recall her well at all. Have you heard anything more?_

 _Maureen Dodderidge_

"What's it mean, Hermione?"

She stared at the message as in a daze. "It means, Harry, that _you_ are totally brilliant, _we_ have been greatly blessed, and _I, myself_ must speak to yet another ghost."

Hermione gave Harry a big hug.

"I'll stay here, I promise," Harry said earnestly.

.

The Interesting Ghost

Hermione ran her finger over the image scratched into the copper of the bathroom tap; it was the snake graffiti to which Ron had spoken when they passed through here to destroy the Hufflepuff Cup. What was different now was that somewhere below was still the living Basilisk. With luck it would remain sealed in the Chamber of Secrets forever.

She sighed and looked at her watch for the umpteenth time. "Do come out, Myrtle, I haven't got all day. I know you're there."

She glanced in the mirror – ghosts had been known to hide in reflective surfaces on occasion. Nothing. It was a shock then to turn back and find herself face to face with the one she sought.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT!"

"Oh, hello, Myrtle, I'm on a parental visit and got bored without anyone to talk to. One of the other ghosts told me you were agreeable company."

"They were making fun of me," said Myrtle, silver tears suddenly welling up in her small, see-through eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure not."

"D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"Well, if anything then," replied Hermione, "I suppose they were making fun of _me_ – they do that you know."

"Really?"

"There are not many I can call true friends – what about you?"

"Friends? Oh, like that horrible... _'livia_ whatever-she-called-herself. Always teasing me about my glasses."

"Olive Hornby? What happened to her?"

"Happened? How should I know! Probably wandered into the Forest, I should think – and good riddance."

"She disappeared?"

"Who?"

"Olive, of course."

"Oh, yes, I think she did..."

"You think...?"

"Well, I don't remember, do I! It was a long time ago."

"But she was your best friend!"

"Who?"

Hermione blinked in confusion. This wasn't going as well as she'd hoped. "What about Irma? What was she like?"

"HER! Irma Crump was the nastiest, most bitter, selfish person I ever met! Pretended to be my friend then turned me away!"

"How so?"

"How? She was clever at tests – I'm sure she cheated – so they moved her up a year, to my year. That's when I met her, and for months she pretended to be kind to me. She transfigured this butterfly brooch for me." Myrtle pushed out her chest to display the ornament, and Hermione examined it closely.

"Soon after," Myrtle continued, "she refused to speak to me again – said I was always complaining. I ask you! Me? Complain?"

"Then why did she make you the gift? It's very lifelike."

"It should be. She copied a real butterfly that had flown in the window. I expect she hoped the pin would scratch me – but now it can't!" Myrtle screeched with laughter.

"Was that the day Tom Riddle's books were vanished?"

Myrtle's jaw gaped wide. "How...?"

"I heard the story," Hermione added in a hurry. "You're quite famous around the school, you know – among the ghosts and uumm, they tell the students the most interesting stories about the erm... most interesting ghosts, naturally."

Myrtle frowned at her. "She killed it. Can you imagine killing such a beautiful butterfly? That murderous..."

"Irma?"

"And she vanished the books too! How vindictive is that!"

"Tom's books? Wasn't that an accident?"

"She vanished the butterfly on top of the books! What else did she expect would happen! Let her rot in the library! Serve her right!"

"You mean Irma Crump died there too! Her ghost is still in the library?"

Myrtle looked at Hermione as if she had taken leave of all her senses, then a kind of malicious glee spread across her face. "Of course not! Irma is the librarian now. She hates it. She hates children! She hates everything! Tom said she needed more time to think about her evil ways – and she got what she deserved – Purgatory!"

Screeching with laughter, Moaning Myrtle shot up to the ceiling, skimmed along it then dove directly into one of the cubicles from which came a huge splash.

Hermione's head was reeling. Irma Crump was now Madam Pince? While still a girl, Irma had saved the world from Lord Voldemort by vanishing his Horcrux books? As she wandered back to the Room of Requirement, Hermione could not help but think she ought to completely revise her opinion of the Hogwarts librarian.

Dangerous Objects

An inspection of the dungeon passage floor the next morning revealed it to be dry, and there was no sign of Filch or his cat anywhere near his office. Trusting that he'd resumed his holiday, she and Harry hurried to finish searching.

"Wait, Harry!" Hermione held Harry back at the doorway while she tested for enchantment traps. Satisfied, she let him fully inside with her. "Dumbledore has jinxed the food cupboard, so keep well away."

Harry nodded and together they soon finished hunting through the final cabinet.

"This makes no sense," said Hermione. "I can't believe Filch would have reason to take a blank parchment elsewhere because it'll definitely be here in a few months when the Weasley twins will find it." She paused. "I wonder how they came across it last time? It couldn't have been an accident, surely?"

"What if Mr Filch thought it was dangerous?" said Harry, hungrily eyeing the other confiscation drawer. "–Even if it's not!" he added hastily when he saw that Hermione was shaking her head. "Fred and George live for danger!"

"Well... better stand back then."

Hermione drew Harry further away before casting a spell to open the drawer. Nothing nasty crawled out, so cautiously they approached and peered in. There were no folders or partitions. The drawer was an open vessel three-quarters full of a wide variety of objects: a packet of whine gums was wedged up against a hairgrip that had refused to yield its hold on some poor witch's tresses, a poxy raisin was stuck on what looked like a troll's toenail, and rather fearsome teeth were biting on the cork of an apparently empty bottle labelled invisible ink.

"P'uh! They're not really dangerous, are they!" cried Harry, reaching for a long stick.

"NO, HARRY!" Hermione knocked it out of his hand onto the floor.

"It's walking!" goggled Harry, "It's walking on its own."

"Of course; it's a walking stick."

"But why would anyone think it was dangerous?"

"Untrained walking sticks won't let go. A wizard from Aberdeen nearly died of blisters by the time his had dragged him through London – it was running him round the deck of a Channel ferry before he was rescued. Not pretty. If this one nuzzles up to you for a walkies, just ignore it. We'll have to grab it and stuff it back in the drawer before we go."

After watching the stick tip-tapping back and forth a few times, Harry's attention quickly drifted back to the drawer contents. "Tongue trapper ... game of draughts ... exploding chalk ... what are these ones marked in red over here, Hermione?"

"Erm... ignore those, Harry. They're only for uuh... grownups."

"Why, what do they do? 'Hitching powder'?"

"Leave it there, Harry. It's uumm... for someone who wants to erm... get hitched – you know, married."

"What about..." Harry picked up a large potion bottle and struggled to pronounce the wording on the label. " ' _Am... Amort... entia Concentrate?"_

Hermione gasped in horror. "Put it back, Harry. It's completely illegal outside of an authorised apothecary, not to mention lethal if you drink more than a drop or two."

"But what's it do?"

"Uumm... hot – yes, it makes you hot and excited... erm – I mean quite happy because they're ... and... that's it really. It makes people happy by warming them up if they're uuh... cold."

"These are boring. I mean, that tiny coughing coffin isn't doing anything – it's not even scary."

"Not from the outside, Harry," Hermione said mysteriously. "Pushing the tombstone down expands the grave to full size and it would swallow you whole."

"But why would it cough?"

"It doesn't. _You_ do," she solemnly replied, quickly hiding the coffin below a tightly-ribboned sickening scroll.

"Oh, look, Hermione – something moved under where that scroll was!"

"Just leave everything, Harry. You don't appreciate just how–"

"No, look! Is that the map?"

Hermione squinted where Harry was pointing at a small area of parchment that was just visible between a bar of black soap and a sickly, rubbery blob; an ink mark could be seen moving across the parchment. She grabbed an edge of the document and carefully pulled it out.

A breathy whistle escaped her lips. "You're right, Harry! Filch must be really thick not to see how he could use this to catch every student out of bounds and out of curfew! Take it, you have more right than anyone..."

Harry gratefully accepted the parchment from Hermione and stared wide-eyed. Thin ink lines were spread across it like a spider's web. They criss-crossed and fanned into every corner of the parchment to form a complete map of Hogwarts.

"There's us!" cried Harry, excitedly stabbing his finger at Filch's office. "But it's got my name wrong!" The boy's enthusiasm deflated somewhat. "It says I'm a Black..."

Hermione looked thoughtful for a while, considering how this could be. She sensed Harry's anxious eyes watching her expression closely.

"That's old magic, Harry. The map is probably based on the Founders' magic still at work in the castle, and your original name would have been in the Book of Admittance. I think the entry must have been altered by the Quill of Acceptance when you were adopted. That ancient magic does not know of the later Ministry legislation concerning optional name constancy. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll find the general day-to-day records will have you down as a Potter."

"But where is the Book, Hermione?"

"Oh, it's in an old locked room up in one of the towers. Few ever go there and no students ever have. Nobody will see it. You'll be fine – Mr Potter forever."

Harry smiled. He loved his new mum and dad but they'd taught him to be proud of his real name – and he was.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Chapter 23 guest reviewer Skye asked: Dumbledore says that they both know what Pandora is after 'up there', but why would he worry if [the diadem] was in Albania? The answer is that he doesn't know that – nobody does except Helena Ravenclaw, Hermione Granger (from Harry reminiscing later in her former life,) and probably the Bloody Baron assumes it must still be somewhere in Albania because after Helena stole it, he followed her there and killed her. But he doesn't know exactly where, nor did Hermione (she does now.) So, knowing that Helena's mother Rowena Ravenclaw devoted her life to the school and rarely left it, Dumbledore, like everyone else who'd searched for the diadem over the centuries, would assume it was somewhere in the school and probably in Ravenclaw Tower which Rowena frequented._

 _A couple of good points were raised by guest reviewer, Lordlyhou for Chapter 7. Firstly, that Tasmania is not beyond Australia but is part of it and not beyond the continents because Antarctica is beyond that:_

 _My answer is that yes, I do know that but you are taking Hermione's instruction to Farrimond too strictly as separate nation states. The word 'continent' has several meanings. Wikipedia gives:_ "The narrowest meaning of continent is that of a continuous area of land or mainland – In this sense ... Australia may refer to the mainland of Australia, excluding Tasmania and New Guinea." _To the simple mind of an owl (in my fic), continents are huge land masses. They know nothing of Antarctica but only the two Americas, Africa, Eurasia, and Australia. The phrase 'beyond the continents' is poetic, being more akin to 'at the edge of the world' than any literal meaning. It was intended to signify immensity and almost unimaginable distances to a creature only used to flying a few miles across London suburbs._

 _The other point raised by Lordlyhour is that goblins would be angry about anyone melting down Galleons and you'd imagine they'd have magic in place to prevent it. My answer is, yes, you would, but they haven't. Not in canon anyway. I gave enormous consideration to this fun method of raising funds (especially the economic and moral side.) In this fiction, to goblins, gold is a conveniently cheap material for making tokens as IOUs, rather like our paper money. Goblins don't need to magically protect the material or the relatively trivial cost of manufacturing Galleons. Goblins consider that true wealth resides in exquisitely-created art items rather than the material from which they are wrought. Now dwarves... that's a different story. They value and love even raw gold because they have to labour for it. Don't ever melt down dwarven gold or you'll be sorry._ ;)

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	25. 0:The Official Inquiry

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort died early, she has formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and ultimately seek cooperation between Muggles and Magical societies. Harry and Hermione obtained information from Hogwarts during the summer holidays to help with their plans. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 25**

 **The Official Inquiry**

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Busy Times

The months that followed the visit to Hogwarts by Hermione and Harry were extremely busy for the poor girl. Much of the time was devoted to discussions with the Cathesis League. A fund had been set up into which each member contributed in accordance with their means, Mike Worthing being the main benefactor. Hermione had been initially excluded and she'd had to argue her case at length before the others would accept donations from a ten-year-old child.

Although a great many initiatives had to be agreed upon, including when and where Hermione might commence work on her genetic therapy research, some of the startup cash was to finance Paul Ingleton's case.

Jop had shortlisted three aggrieved who'd felt cheated of the Sickles and Knuts they'd put into the Christmas Party cash account. He'd found them willing to help press action against Paul. In addition, Barty Crouch acted as the most officious complainant who was to pressure the inquiry to bring formal charges while trusting that they wouldn't. The amounts embezzled were trivial but the inquest set to take place in November had attracted a lot of interest in the press because of Paul's previous high office at the Ministry.

"I think you're walking a fine line," Hermione said. "Paul might come out of this worse off."

Crouch explained, "We have to sling as much mud as possible to give the impression we are strongly against Paul. When we steer the case to deliberately fail, I doubt anyone will believe the prosecution was carefully arranged to clear the main suspect. The truth is, by my actions so far, many suppose that I personally was the one who first accused Paul, and that I must know something concrete. They'll all be expecting me to provide substantial evidence. When I and the other prosecution witnesses fail to produce any link whatsoever, then the entire case will collapse as an idiotic farce and Paul will walk away squeaky clean."

"But won't your own reputation be stained?" Hermione frowned at Barty across the round table. Papers rustled nervously in the ensuing pause before he replied.

Finally, Crouch shook his head – though he did shift a little in his seat. "I won't have done anything wrong except report my suspicions based on the limited number of people who had access to the funds. I shall certainly throw emphasis on those others, including Umbridge. Even without evidence, _they_ are the ones who will then become suspect, such is the nature of rumour and scandal. The public will believe Paul to have been proven innocent when in fact his position will be no different. I will be seen to have done my duty; it may well help my status because I am already known as a rigorous enforcer of the law."

Meanwhile, Hermione had to fit in extra hours giving instruction to her friends, including an introduction to first-year Potions which would soften the impact when facing Snape's usual scorn. This in turn linked to some of the principles of Herbology insofar as they related to ingredients. And, of course, the dark arts defensive practice continued.

"What about Luna's mum?" whispered Harry for the tenth time in as many weeks. His simple potion stood simmering in its cauldron, and Hermione could not help but think that Harry was occasionally seething too.

"It's not easy to get to Albania. I can't Apparate because it's too far and I've never been there. Muggle transport would eat up time I cannot spare. Don't worry, I might have found a way, Harry."

So it was, at the next meeting of the Cathesis League, she took aside Barty Crouch.

"As part of a covert operation I need a return Portkey to Peshkopi. Would it be possible for you to procure one for me somehow? I'd rather not do it through official channels if you know what I mean."

Crouch frowned and shook his head. "Portkeys are highly regulat–"

"–I know! That's why I'm asking."

Crouch shook his head. "Each year there are a few Portkeys returned unused, but they're mostly for popular locations. I've known Ministry staff to sneak one out for a holiday. Where'd you say?"

"Peshkopi. It's in Albania."

"Are you serious, Miss Brown? Try Paris or Rome and you might get lucky."

"It has to be Peshkopi."

"No possibility whatsoever. The Albanian Magical Alliance is no more than a general agreement between small, loosely-related magical communities – not a united country in the same sense as the Muggles who live there. Very few wizards ever visit the dangerous magical wilderness that is Albania."

"Would you at least try?"

Crouch grumbled for a while but eventually agreed to look every chance he had over the next few months, and Hermione could only leave it at that and cross her fingers.

A few days before the hearing into the accusations against Ingleton, a quarterly report was handed to Hermione by Mike Worthing. "It's the shop in Knockturn Alley. Those names on the list mean anything? They're the handful of customers who've visited the place and they've all either been turned away or found it locked. My men had them followed but, well, you can see from the list they're no one special; two are not even Pure-bloods."

Hermione shook her head. "None of these are known to me. We'll keep it on file though."

"Want me to instruct my men to continue? They're starting to get restless."

"Yes. A shop without any trade for all this time? Must be suspicious."

"They may be legitimately trading by Floo. The shop could be simply to provide them with a respectable owl address."

"Respectable? In Knockturn Alley?"

.

The Painted Lady

For a young girl without adult supervision, penetrating the inner levels of the Ministry had not been easy, but Hermione was determined to watch over the legal proceedings concerning Ingleton. Knowing such inquests could not be held in private, she'd planned to sit invisibly in a far corner of the visitors' area but for some reason the smallest court had been selected for this case. Barely six guest wizards had squeezed into the small space allotted, and Hermione could see why: bare floorboards showed where seating had been removed and two large cabinets placed awkwardly, which wasted what room there was. Other members of the public were crowding the open doorway but there was barely standing room for two inside, so a considerable amount of agitated jostling was occurring behind.

"Shove up, long-shanks, I can't see!" muttered a wizard with his ribs pushed painfully across the edge of the doorframe.

"Who's fault's that, short-arse?"

"But if I stand in front of you then you can see over my shoulder and everyone's happy."

"I'm already happy."

Hermione had considered adding to Harry's experience by bringing him along, but in the end decided the youngster would quickly become bored. Instead, she'd invited Luna who had previously shown interest in Paul's fate, and was eager to write up the meeting for The Quibbler.

That gave Hermione another idea for their covert placement. They'd found a lone corner up in the press gallery where she could rest from immateriality but keep both of them invisible for an extended period without detection.

She was in for a few surprises. While, as expected, Rita Skeeter was present – being the only other journalist and several seats further along to their left – the outrageous scandaliser had also smuggled in something else. A writing surface extended along the top of the balcony rail and there was also waist-high partitioned shelving below for reporter's bags and equipment. A curious little box had been placed in Rita's cubbyhole, and the witch appeared to be adjusting it in a rather furtive way.

"She's shrunk a camera," whispered Luna. "Photographs are against court rules." The young girl patted the sketchpad she herself had brought along, wedged out of sight deeply into her own niche, as if to indicate that she at least was more honourable. "Miss Skeeter is very naughty."

Hermione didn't remind her that they themselves were being far 'naughtier' – she was more concerned about how Rita might play the story in the Evening Prophet. Perhaps there'd be a damning question mark over a photo of Paul's worried face. On the other hand, if the unscrupulous reporter sniffed more drama in Paul being the _victim_ of injustice, then perhaps it might work in his favour. All would depend on how information unfolded at this inquest.

Hermione eased her invisible nose forward over the rail and looked down. The glistening faces of the few squeezed in at the back of the public area were animated, but the wizards in the only available seats in front of them looked bored. Why then had they bothered to come? Were they passive lackeys hired to arrive early and take up all the limited public space? Way to the left of them were complainants who might be called upon to testify, among them, Paul and a well-robed witch paid for by the League to advise him on the law, as well as Bartemius Crouch. The central space between public and witnesses was taken up by court administrators: the Tipstaff, his clerk, bailiff, scribe with two speed-quills, and a junior Auror to help keep order if needed.

Hermione reached down and opened her own pencil box, and began to make notes, with Luna watching the pen apparently writing on its own as Hermione's invisible hand moved back and forth.

"Oh, may I try one of those funny quills?" breathed Luna.

Hermione murmured softly, "They're ball-points. Help yourself, but keep everything well inside the niche so Rita can't see – and hurry, look, someone's coming in."

A murmur arose as the door behind the judges' bench opened and a dumpy old wizard boasting a large moustache ambled in so slowly that those behind him were being held back out of sight. He had narrow, uncaring eyes and Hermione didn't like the look of him one bit. His appearance prompted the bailiff to hustle out the standing public and close the door on them.

"Only seated members of the public allowed!" he shouted in response to the cries of annoyance that were to be heard as he turned the lock.

When Hermione looked up again, she winced in disappointment. Coming in behind the dumpy man was Dolores Umbridge. As the man ahead of her dropped himself onto the farthest of four seats, she tried to drag the next chair back to a more central position. She was obstructed in this by another plum-robed witch coming up behind who Hermione recognised as Madam Marchbanks. Following her was Madam Bones. The result was uneven spacing. The old wizard was slightly isolated on one side with the other three witches rather bunched up together on the podium.

"Objection!" cried Barty Crouch. "You can't–"

"ORDER! ORDER!" bellowed the Tipstaff, rising to his feet.

"I see that Mister... _Crotch_..." simpered Madam Umbridge with a delicate little smile, "is under the impression he is counsel at a criminal trial. Might I suggest he study law before shouting out?"

"But you can't possibly–"

At a signal from Umbridge, the Tipstaff had thrust the tip of his rod of authority into Barty's mouth and silenced him with a spell.

"That's better," continued Umbridge. "This meeting is called to enquire as to whether Paul Ingleton should be charged with stealing Ministry funds. Evidence will be presented and then this committee shall decide on the matter. In the case of a tied vote, my decision as Supreme Arbitratrix of the tribunal shall be final."

"Objection!" cried Madam Bones.

"Have I not already made myself quite clear, Amelia?" Umbridge's smile had tightened. "There will be no–"

"Quite clear, thank you, Dolores. However, although a _complainant_ may not lodge an objection, as a duly-appointed member of this panel, _I_ certainly CAN!" Amelia wasn't smiling at all. "Evidence will suggest there is more than one suspect and no suspect can–"

" _Hem!"_ Umbridge had raise a finger and the rod-flourishing Tipstaff had stepped to the bench awaiting her orders. Madam Bones paused to glare at both of them.

"We cannot act on evidence not yet heard, now can we?" said Umbridge sweetly, as if explaining to a little child.

Madam Bones' lips compressed angrily. "Very well. As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it is my duty to call the first–"

"Thank you, Amelia, but as a matter of protocol, as Supreme Arbitratrix, it is _my_ duty to get proceedings under way, is it not?"

Madam Bones was beginning to squirm with annoyance but she managed to suppress an unwise caustic reply by the distraction of having to wipe steam off her monocle.

Umbridge rose to her feet and tilted her face upward as if to address the plaster cherubs decorating the ceiling rather than the gathering below. "I call upon Madam Bones to begin questioning the parties concerned." She sat down again, face forward and sporting a self-satisfied smile.

Madam Bones mustered what self-possession she could. "Mr Hewitt, take the stand, please."

The man had barely reached the rail before she hurried on, "Mr Hewitt, you are employed as Office Manager in the Administration Section of the Ministry, are you not?" – "I am." – "Have you a list of all personnel who had access to the Christmas Party funds last year?" – Hewitt held out a piece of parchment and was about to say yes when Amelia leaned forward and took it from him. "Thank you, Mr Hewitt, that is all." Holding the list close to her chest, she quickly scrutinised it then opened her mouth to read it out.

" _Hem, hem."_ Umbridge dabbed at her nose with a lacy pink handkerchief.

Madam Bones sighed and gestured for Umbridge to continue.

"Have we any proof that this list is authentic?" frowned Umbridge. "May I see?"

"Is it not proof enough that the entire court has just witnessed the Office Manager handing this to me?"

Amelia held up the sheet and Umbridge snatched it. "We saw the witness hand you _something, Amelia."_ With barely a glance at the note, she declared, "Inadmissible," and scorched it to a cinder with one flick of her wand.

Several pens had been scratching away furiously all this time, not least that of Skeeter, but, Hermione noted, the journalist's palm was covertly placed over the little camera which now rested atop the gallery railing.

"Mr Hewitt, would you please return to the stand?" said Madam Bones.

" _Hem, hem."_

Hewitt was halfway to stepping up and paused mid-stride.

"As a matter of protocol, you said you'd finished questioning this witness, Madam Bones," said Umbridge rather icily.

"No, I didn't. I said–"

"Scribe! Madam Bones cannot remember her last statement. Would you please read out the official record."

Caught out and rather flustered, the scribe stumbled to his feet. "Uuh... ' _No, I didn't. I said–'_ "

"Not her _very_ last statement, you half–!" Umbridge rapidly reduced her acidic tone back to its usual sugary-sweetness. "The last statement _relevant_ to what we were saying, namely her dismissal of the witness."

A flurry of parchment scrolls later, the scribe read out, " ' _Thank you, Mr Hewitt, that is all.'_ "

" ' _That is all.'_ I think the instruction is clear enough. Call your next witness, Madam Bones."

"But..."

"Have you no more witnesses? Very well then–"

"Yes! Yes! Of course there are more! Mr Crouch, would you please take the stand?"

Barty, still red-faced but recovering from the silencing rod, stepped up.

"Mr Crouch..." Amelia hesitated for a moment, then a grim smile appeared on her face. "Mr Crouch, did Mr Hewitt inform you of all those with access to the funds, and if so, please inform the court of their names."

"Certainly he did. They are–"

"OBJECTION!" cried Umbridge. "Do you admit to conferring with another witness, Mr _Crotch?"_

Luna whispered, "She knows! She knows what we're doing! And she's trying to humiliate poor Mr Crouch because she thinks he's trying to further his career so she sees him as a competitor that–"

"Sssh!" Hermione hissed softly.

"Madam Umbridge," Barty raised himself up to his full height.

" _Hem, hem."_

Barty frowned his puzzlement.

"As a matter of very long-standing protocol, court entities must address the Supreme Arbitratrix as 'My Gracious One'."

"WHAT!" cried Barty. "That form of salutation has not been heard in over a century!"

"A sad oversight which will be corrected in MY court! Continue..."

Crouch's face was back to the same ruddiness it had shown when the Tipstaff's baton had been choking him but Ingleton's counsel was nodding his reluctant agreement at Barty.

"Very well," blustered Barty, his face reddening even more deeply, "My... _Gracious_ One, the term 'admit' is suggestive of a mistake or misdemeanour and there–"

" _Hem, hem."_

Barty froze, white knuckles gripping the top of the complainants partition.

"Without a denial it sounds almost as if you are confessing," she simpered girlishly. "Did you confer with a witness or not?"

Barty spluttered, "Well, of course I bloody well–!"

"–Yes or no, Mr _Crutch_ , and I insist on protocol if you wish to continue giving evidence!"

"Uuh, I..." With a supreme effort, Barty fought and mastered a powerful temptation to leap up and strangle his tormentor. "I ... did – that – is, _My – Gracious – One,"_ – he was pulling out the painful words one by one like broken teeth at the dentist – "consult – Mr – Hew–"

"Thank you. You're dismissed!"

"But..."

"Have you any more witnesses, Amelia? I'd like to wrap this up quickly," said Umbridge.

"I would like to call Mr Hewitt again," said Madam Marchbanks, who had been sitting quietly all this time observing the to and fro.

"Sadly, Mr Hewitt has already been dismissed, Griselda," said Umbridge, casually brushing a sleeve of her robe with the back of one hand.

"Not by me, he hasn't," said Marchbanks, "and as a matter of protocol, _Dolores_ , because I am a Wizengamot Elder and Governor of the Examinations Authority, you will in future kindly address me as Madam Professor Marchbanks."

"But–"

"Step up again, Mr Hewitt," said Marchbanks very firmly.

He did so.

"Please tell us the names of all those who had access to the Christmas funds last year."

"Certainly. There was myself, Messrs Ingleton, Lawson, Bower, the Minister for Magic, of course, but only through me, and Madam Umbridge."

"I MUST protest!" cried Umbridge.

"Thank you, Mr Hewitt, please sit down," said Marchbanks. "I move that Madam Umbridge's involvement as a possible suspect in this case compromises her role as Supreme Arbitratrix, that she be declared persona non grata and cannot preside over this meeting."

Umbridge jumped to her feet, squinting blind with fury. "I ABSOLUTELY MUST..." Her eyes opened. For a moment, Hermione wondered if she'd had a stroke, but then a thin smirk crept across Umbridge's lips and she continued, "I absolutely must... AGREE. Yes, agree. In the circumstances, because of the erm... peculiar... coincidence... and because no less than four judges _must_ attend, the matter is unresolvable. Case dismissed."

She rose as if to leave but was unable to reach the door beyond the other two witches who were now conferring together. "We move that the meeting be reconvened at a later date."

"Agreed." Umbridge's response was so rapid that it was clear she had anticipated it.

Luna's eyes popped wide and white, her jaw gaped, and the shocked girl's pen slipped from her fingers onto the notebook she was tightly gripping. "As Undersecretary, she can put it off indefinitely," she whispered. "Poor Mr Ingleton might never be heard."

The chamber had been reduced to a frozen vacuum of silence while Bones and Marchbanks continued their private discussion, and everyone strained to hear. The members of the court held their breath. Luna's ballpoint rolled off her notepad and into a corner of her niche with a little tippitty-tap-click. Skeeter's face whipped around in her direction. She didn't know it but she was looking straight through both Luna and Hermione who were clutching each other's arm to steady themselves.

"be reconvened, or..." said Marchbanks, as if there had been no interruption in her flow, "or be reassembled."

" 'reassembled'?" croaked Umbridge.

"Yes, there is precedent, of course – it was in 1840, I believe, the same year incidentally," Marchbanks said with much point, "that the phrase 'My Gracious One' was declared both archaic and foolish."

"Very well," said Umbridge, "we shall vote on it. All those in favour of replacing the Supreme Arbitratrix please raise your hand."

While the arms of Bones and Marchbanks moved stiffly upwards, Umbridge scowled over her shoulder at the dumpy wizard whose head was drooping. An underhand stinging hex quickly brought him to full alert and his hand began to climb dozily. Umbridge glared at him and mouthed frantically, at which his hand bent crookedly to smooth his voluminous moustache.

"Oh, it's a tied vote!" cried Umbridge. "Well then, I–"

"Sadly, no," said Marchbanks. "No vote can be cast where there may be conflict of interest. Your vote does not count, Dolores. You may, however, remain as a member of the committee but only to comment and observe. That leaves two in favour, one against, and one invalid. Motion carried."

Amelia said, "I move that Madam Marchbanks be sworn in as Supreme Arbitratrix." Her hand lifted high, as did Griselda's. "Two votes to one. Motion carried."

Entranced, Hermione stared delightedly at the change of fortune, but a dig in the ribs from Luna alerted her to a new danger. In the excitement, she'd forgotten about Skeeter. Indeed, Rita herself had been sidetracked. However, as a reporter she was used to multi-tasking and in the last minute or so had stealthily removed her wand and was pointing it towards...

" _Pingush!"_

All eyes stared up towards the press gallery where Rita Skeeter stood triumphantly pointing her wand towards the seats to her right. Thick, bright yellow paint was now coating those chairs as well as the wall beyond, and the sticky goo was not only dribbling over the handrail onto the six wizards seated in the public area below, but the force of her spell had sputtered it back over the scurrilous reporter's face and robes. Rita's expression faded rapidly as her nose dripped hi-gloss lemon onto the tiny camera lens...

"Miss Skeeter!" cried Madam Marchbanks. "Explain yourself!"

"There's someone – there _was_ someone there, I'm sure of it!"

"Auror – if you please," said Marchbanks, gesturing up to the balcony. "Better take the bailiff with you too."

She turned to Madam Bones. "Amelia, would you please recall Mr Crouch and let us try to salvage something from this day..."

In the loft space above the inquest chamber, the two girls lay in the dust, Luna snicking and sneezing hopelessly. " _Buggle_ – snick! – _bens_ – tsh! – roll!" said the youngster. " _Tha's_ why they're –snsh! – called ball _bens?"_

 _What now?_ thought Hermione. While Luna had another bout of coughing and sneezing, Hermione made herself invisible again, dematerialised, and dipped her face down through the joists. Madam Bones was questioning Barty Crouch. The Auror was frowning at Rita and shaking his head. She looked torn between explaining why she'd cast paint onto empty seats, while simultaneously concealing her ruined camera and paying attention to the court drama unfolding below. Hermione held on as long as was comfortable then resurfaced.

" _Wha's habbening!"_ cried a flush-faced Luna in a croaky, wheezy voice.

Speaking hurriedly while cleansing the joists, themselves, Luna's hair, and even the air of dust, Hermione said, "Madam Bones is asking Mr Crouch what, if anything links Paul to the missing funds, and he's saying nothing directly but there were lots of rumours going around and she's asking from where and he's saying he can't remember who first told him and looking very puzzled and she's saying sounds like Confundus might have been used to spread ill-will and..." Hermione paused to take a breath. "I have an idea..."

Delving into her beaded bag, she withdrew a couple of wireless Hearsays she'd derived from Fred and George's Extendable Ears idea, and passed one to Luna. After showing her how to stuff the Sayer in her ear, she grasped the Hearers, made herself insubstantial for a few moments, and plunged them down to the ceiling below. The Sayers grumbled a little before settling down to repeat what the Hearers were listening to. Luna rolled up the sleeves of her robe and took out her favourite, most feathery quill and soon both girls were scribbling and scratching away, with Luna putting the finishing touches to her sketch of Paul Ingleton in the lulls.

"Luna, I don't think the halo is a good idea," murmured Hermione.

"No? Mmm... oh well, perhaps I _should_ tone it down just a little. How about a nice war medal glinting in its subtle radiance – as a kind of distraction, I mean?"

"Sssh... they're about to vote!"

"...that no evidence whatsoever has ever been discovered linking Mr Ingleton to–"

"Or anyone at all," Umbridge trilled grumpily.

Madam Marchbanks bowed her head slightly in acquiescence. " _Or anyone at all,_ to the missing Christmas funds. All those in agreement, raise your right hand."

Lying side by side, Luna and Hermione looked at each other as they held their breath...

"Motion carried!" declared Marchbanks. "And Miss Skeeter, your wand is suspended for ten days and you're fined twenty Galleons for vandalising this court. Our bailiff will let you out as soon as it's paid and you've cleaned up every last drop of the mess you caused."

"How am I supposed to remove paint without a wand?"

"Bailiff! Can you please provide Miss Skeeter with a cloth and bucket?"

Hermione and Luna rolled and squee'ed together in delight. It was at moments like these that Hermione really loved being a young girl again. The thought of Rita Skeeter on her hands and knees scrubbing paint was hilarious. They would not have been so amused if they'd have seen Rita examining with great interest... a paint-soaked ball-point pen.

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—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Skye mentioned that even though she has her earlier experience, Hermione ought to act her (young) age more. Good point. It's a fine balance. I think I've been considering three things: how she behaves in serious situations and with adults, how she behaves in 'girly' situations with friends, and also that she's just reached ten now and she presented herself in the original book (just about twelve) as rather serious by nature. She didn't lighten up for a while. But I thought I was making her a bit more fun-loving earlier in life (in non-serious situations,) as well as making mistakes that might be regarded as childish. Note the end of the current chapter with Luna (I think I wrote that before reading the review.) Anyway, I will keep that in mind, to try to make her 'sound' young, if I can. thanks, Skye._

 _Jhotenko wondered how the Weasley twins would turn out without the map and after having been forced to face how they were treating Ron more seriously. I still see them as jokers – but more considerate, sort of... thoughtful jokers!_ :D _I'd considered that Harry might lend them the map anyway if an idea leads that way._

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	26. 0:Preparing To Investigate

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort died early, she has formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and ultimately seek cooperation between Muggles and Magical societies. Ravenclaw's Diadem is needed to save Mrs Lovegood so Hermione must get ready to search for it in Albania. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 26**

 **Preparing To Investigate**

* * *

.

One of a Pair

The end of the week saw Adam Brown with a bagful of Christmas shopping striding across Diagon Alley towards the excited knot of robed figures gathered around the news vendor on the corner of Knockturn.

 _REDEEMED!_ was The Quibbler headline. Luna's drawing, now colourfully animated and almost filling the front page, depicted tears of innocence trickling down Paul's saintly face. Off to one side, Barty Crouch stood, arms folded and slowly nodding his head in approval at a job well done.

 _Detailed interviews with those present at the inquiry  
provides you with the true account of how the drama  
unfolded to show that Mr Paul Ingleton is blameless!_

Adam indulged a smile of satisfaction as he entered Knockturn. The Lovegoods had protected themselves should there be any accusation by Rita of their being concealed in the press gallery.

With Christmas only weeks away, Hermione had reserved this one day for shopping and her Polyjuice disguise enabled her to browse unaccompanied. Creepy crones and glib bagmen loitered in the byway; all stood aside to let the big man pass, and soon those intelligent eyes fell upon the sign: _Calla's Curios._ Adam pushed open the door and entered.

The tinkle of the doorbell echoed around a shop empty of customers but in every direction he could see counters and shelves stacked with boxes and trays awash with loose bric-a-brac. On one side, cheap wooden bead necklaces lay strewn across tatty books, with a variety of worn umbrellas, tarnished candlesticks, and common household adornments – some clearly of non-magical origin – mixed in. There was Muggle clothing too, mingled with the witch's robes on the racks arranged around the corner of the room, and he could not resist skimming through to see what was on offer. A young girl's pleated dress in pastel yellow made him squeal with delight and, without thinking, he held it against himself to see how the garment looked in the wall mirror.

"Ahem..."

Adam whirled around. The shopkeeper, a handsome, dark-haired woman of about thirty years was looking at him rather strangely. "The uuh... ladies' sizes are further along, sir."

"No, no! Not – what – not!" squeaked Adam. He coughed to clear his throat then deepened his voice. "That is, it's not... that is, it's not..." He tried to think of an excuse.

"For your wife, sir?"

"Heavens no! I'm not erm..."

"Not...?"

Seeing her glance down at his hands, Adam abruptly remembered he was still clutching the frock to himself. "Aaah..."

"If sir wishes to try, there is a dressing room to your left." The witch leaned forward over the counter revealing an ample bosom ill-concealed by her loose purple robe. "And if you need any help...?"

Adam forced a hoarse laugh and cleared his throat again. "For my daughter. Christmas party coming up... lots of friends, haha! What I was really looking for was..."

"For your... _daughter?"_ she smiled, one eyebrow cocked doubtfully.

"Mmm... sort of. Look, Miss er... I'm–"

"Sort of? Ah...!"

"Mirrors!" blurted Adam. "Uuh... special, two-way erm... mirrors?"

The woman's eyes widened but there was a hint of hungry delight deep within them. She leaned forward even further. "I'm Calla. We could arrange something later if sir would like to..."

"Ah, look!" cried Adam. The far end of the shop boasted items of better quality and was organised into groups: books, clocks, paintings and other wall hangings, pretty ornamental boxes and containers. He walked directly towards a wide basket glittering with looking-glasses and began examining them. "Any of these two-way?"

"Sadly, only the greatest sorcerers have ever produced two-way mirrors because they are so exceedingly difficult to enchant and the art is mostly lost," sighed Calla, "which makes them rarer than Occamy triplets and ten times the price. However, it so happens I do have a very nice pair – I can let you see one if you desire, Mister...?"

"Uumm... Adam, call me Adam. One on its own? That's not so useful."

"Oh, you'd be surprised, Adam," said Calla mysteriously.

He thought for a few moments. "How much?"

Calla was leaning forward so far now that she was almost sprawled – visible flesh-aquiver – across the counter, one hand clutching hungrily at Adam's sleeve. "I'm sure we could come to some agreeable compensation," she said softly.

Acquiring the mirror was too important to risk offending the shopkeeper. Adam suppressed a shudder and attempted to control his feelings. "I'll consider it."

"But the one for you is right here. Take a look. Perhaps you might like to appraise it for a few days?" She straightened herself up and, gesturing downwards, slowly sank behind the counter.

Curious, Adam leaned over and gulped at the view. Calla was rummaging in her handbag that had been shelved there and was taking her time about it. She looked up suddenly with a big smile that intentionally revealed white teeth between vivid red lips. "Ah, I think I have just what you want."

She pulled out a small mirror set in a rectangular gold frame, then slowly rose up to lean forward and press it into his hand. "Shall we say... twenty Galleons, and I'll throw in your frilly dress for nothing?"

Adam frowned. Single two-way mirrors were worth hundreds – a thousand or more for a good pair. He touched it with his wand and chanted an ancient spell; his reflection nodded back at him. "It's authentic," he murmured to himself, slightly surprised.

He wasn't sure what Calla was up to, but he handed over the money, anxious to get away.

"Don't forget your little frock," smiled Calla.

.

Preparing Gifts

Hermione smiled as she hung the new party dress in her wardrobe. Christmas would be fun at the Weasleys, but the new year would bring fresh problems – the most pressing of which would be saving Pandora. In Hermione's previous life, Luna's mother had died in April but her own interaction with the Lovegoods might change that date, so minimum delay was essential. Perhaps in the end she'd have to make the long trip to Albania by Muggle transport disguised as Adam again – but Hermione did not relish such an extended use of Polyjuice.

Taking three identical leather-bound books from her desk, she carried them over to her bed and, sitting cross-legged, wriggled herself comfortable while she examined her purchases. Each was an everlasting diary with their own delicate brass lock and key. She opened the first and began considering how she could apply the Protean charm so Luna, Ginny, and Harry could stay in touch when he started his first year at Hogwarts. It would not be easy, and she'd have to consult one of her advanced charms books then practise on a couple of old notebooks.

She wrinkled her nose. Charming a book to imitate the words written in another was one thing, tuning another mirror to reflect the image in the one she'd brought in Diagon Alley would be much more difficult, even supposing another could be found. She opened her bag and examined the looking glass. It was not large but when she was reshaped as Adam Brown it had fitted neatly in the palm of his big hand, whereas now it was slightly cumbersome for a child to use discretely. Perhaps it could be cut in half. Yes, that's how the ancients used to produce them: the skillful work of casting the most inconceivably-complex Protean charm took days of precise ritual, so a larger mirror was enchanted then physically divided by an apprentice to greatly reduce the expert labour needed. Yes, she'd ask her dad at the weekend if he could cut and reframe the glass. Meanwhile, she went to fetch her charms book to begin the hours of research needed to learn how to bewitch the diaries.

One Way Trip

"Pumpkin juice, Rosemary?" Vera Gair smiled knowingly as she offered Hermione a drink. It was the first celebration at a Cathesis League meeting since it had been formed and the remembrance of Hermione's intoxication had everyone chuckling.

"To Paul Ingleton, may he meet with the success he deserves!" Barty Crouch raised his glass.

"To Paul!" responded the gathering.

"I do hope they quickly promote him out of that horrible job he's doing now," said Jop.

Everyone nodded. Mike added, "It may be a very slow process for his career to advance though."

After chatting briefly about Paul's prospects, the meeting was called to order.

"Firstly," said Vera, "Mike, I believe you've made progress with the equipment that Rosemary needs?"

"Yes, a suitable – though rather small – Muggle lab was closing down, and my company has made an offer. I'm hopeful that fitting-out can be performed rapidly so research can begin later in the new year – if that's alright with you, Rosemary?"

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, yes, Mr Worthing. How's your treatment at St. Mungo's coming along?"

He smiled. "Very well. They tell me I've stabilised for the time being and I definitely feel much better – almost normal. Oh, and please call me Mike."

"Good. Let me know as soon as you have the property because I'd like to look it over and advise your people how to set it up."

"Uuh... that won't be _too_ early in the new year, will it?" said Barty, "because I might possibly have that... erm... _item_ you requested, Rosemary?"

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Ah, that journey need not be secret so long as it's kept within the League, Mr Crouch. What date is the Portkey for?"

"A rich Albanian family are spending Christmas with relatives in London and were due to return to Tirana the Wednesday after, but decided to stay another week." He hefted his briefcase up onto the round table and scrabbled around inside.

"Tirana?" Hermione frowned. "The capital, isn't it? That's miles from Peshkopi."

"Take a broom with you," smiled Barty. "Ah, here it is..."

He pulled out a fragment from a broken plant pot. "They have an extensive garden so while they're still away, you won't be noticed."

"It returns to their garden?"

"The far end of the garden, yes."

"And it's a return only? That is, it's a return Portkey with only the return left? It's one-way for me?"

Mr Crouch frowned. "You're lucky to get anything for Albania."

Hermione said rather hastily, "Oh, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful, it's just that I'm hopeless on a broomstick and... well, obviously, I need to come back after."

Crouch looked puzzled. "I thought you might, you know..." He arched his eyebrows.

"Apparate back! Possibly... "Mike, have you a map of Europe?"

Mike laughed heartily. "There's no way anyone can Apparate all the way from Albania!" He fetched an atlas from his bookshelves and soon had it opened up on the table. "See? It's over a thousand miles!"

Hermione leaned over. "Mmm..."

.

Luna's Your Man

Harry winced. "You know I want to help you, Hermione, but I can't really... does it have to be on Wednesday?"

The children were sprawled out in Ron's room having a 'secret' Christmas afternoon meeting. Hermione, sitting with Harry on the bed set up for his overnight stay, smoothed out the pleats in her new dress thoughtfully. She'd taken his assistance for granted and now reproached herself for it. Even so, she found herself pleading, "The problem is I don't trust myself on a broomstick for a long journey. You could say you're visiting me for the day."

Harry nodded. "Okay then..."

No great insight was needed for Hermione to see that he looked unhappy. "What is it, Harry?"

"Only, Uncle Remus is coming to stay for two days. I've never missed any of his visits – he's really nice and interesting and everything."

Hermione blew out a long breathy whistle of air. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I was being selfish. Of course you can't miss–"

"No, you're my best friend and friends come first!" Harry reminded himself rather stiffly.

"Absolutely not," said Hermione, equally as definite. "It wouldn't be fair on Remus either – I mean your Uncle Remus – he counts as a friend too."

"I'll go with you instead," said Ginny. She was clutching her new diary lovingly; the ragdoll Minnie nowhere to be seen. She'd opened up a lot during the last year, and Ron had conceded she was now more like her normal, talkative self even when all of them were together. She continued, "I'm the best flier. We'll lock arms side by side and go slow. You said it was only forty miles – that won't take long."

Hermione shook her head. "Perhaps, but your mum'll never–"

"Ginny, you said you'd stay with me after Christmas!" cried Luna. "You promised."

"Exactly." Ginny gave an impish grin. "Mum won't know where I am, and it's only for half a morning you said, Hermione."

Luna, who had been lying on her back behind Ron and Ginny, rolled over to face the others. "Then I'm coming too!"

"Now wait a minute...!" cried Hermione.

"I don't get it – what's the big secret, anyway?" said Ron. With Luna's elbow now lodged against his side, he shifted his position a few times on the bed, then gave up and trudged grumpily to the window to look out. Another dry Christmas with no snow.

Luna saw Harry and Hermione exchange glances, and her eyes frown-squinted. "So Harry already knows?"

Ron whirled around. "It's about me then, isn't it?"

"Ron, I promise you it isn't," said Hermione.

"But that only leaves Luna and Ginny!" cried Ron.

"And you already said, perhaps Ginny can go," said Luna. She rolled back to face the wall.

"Who said it's about anyone here?" said Harry.

Nobody spoke for a while.

"Is it something bad?" Luna said softly without turning around.

Hermione uttered a half-hearted denial.

"No, it's good... ish," added Harry, seeing Hermione's glare.

"That always means it's bad," Luna said miserably.

Harry whispered in Hermione's ear, "Why don't we just tell them?"

"No way!" hissed Hermione.

"I don't mean about... you-know-what. But we could, you know..."

Hermione insisted they shouldn't.

"She'll have to know eventually."

Reminded of that indisputable fact, Hermione relented with a sigh. "It's about finding a great treasure."

Luna rolled over to face her again. "I love treasure!"

"The secret is that it's dangerous for... me. Yes, for me. If Ginny helps, I can then immediately Apparate her back. Once I've seen the place, I can Apparate there again."

"But what's the danger?" said Ron. "And why do you have to face it alone? I thought we were a secret society, not a secret... one-person-on-their-own sort of erm... society."

"There's a magical creature and–"

"What sort of creature!" cried Luna, sitting up now, all alert.

"Uumm... the sort that eats you."

"Can't you just avoid it?" said Ginny.

Hermione shook her head. "That's the whole point, you have to get by it."

Luna gasped. "Then it's a sphinx, isn't it! You have to answer a riddle to get to the treasure she's guarding or she devours you! How exciting!"

"That's just plain bonkers!" shrilled Ginny half-rising to her feet. "As if they want to give you a chance to steal their treasure?" She hesitated as all eyes fell upon her in surprise. "Who put it there anyway? And why didn't they just tell the sphinx to eat everyone who comes near?" – here, Luna protested that sphinxes won't do that, but Ginny squeaked on regardless, her expression one of bafflement – "And how can they control a sphinx? Where'd they get a sphinx to protect it and why?" She sank back to a sitting position, her face slightly flushed, and trying not to look at Harry. Perhaps, after all, little Ginny wasn't quite ready yet for such an outburst outside of her family.

Harry frowned. "Yes, why did they, Hermione?"

"I can't say."

"But you know, I can tell."

"Yes. Look, what does it matter? It's a dangerous magical creature and I'm the only one with experience of–"

"I've seen lots of creatures," Luna said dreamily. "Lots and lots and lots..."

Hermione enquired if she'd ever flown on a Hippogriff.

Luna's wide open mouth signalled that she hadn't.

"Been to London on an Invisible Thestral?" Hermione added primly. "Or ridden a dragon the length of the country? Fought a giant snake?"

Luna's mouth gaped wider and her eyes bulged white and round.

"No way have you ridden a dragon!" cried Ron. "You'd have to be mental."

"Well, yes, that's true," giggled Hermione, "you were with me at the time, Ronald."

It was Ron's jaw's turn to drop. "I...? I...?"

"Yes. When you robbed Gringotts bank with Harry and me to help vanquish an evil wizard."

"I..." spluttered Ron. "I d-did what?"

"Ron, that's only a fraction of all the noble deeds you accomplished. You fought battles by my side. You all did! Why'd you think I chose you as friends? Because you're the best!"

Ron went and sat down on his bed again, somewhat humbled by his 'other self' and deep in thought. Everyone fell silent.

"But the fact remains, I'm the only one that can remember that life, so it has to be me alone that goes. It's not being noble; I'm just the one most suited to the task in hand."

"You're wrong," said Ron.

"What?"

"If it's a riddle you want answering, then Luna's your man."

Ginny nodded in agreement. "She's a whizz at riddles. And not bad on a broomstick either – but not as good as me," she added hastily. "You need us both. What you said, the ones most suited to the task. Luna could tell you the solution to the riddle and then you tell the sphinx and risk getting eaten if that's what's worrying you."

"I've always longed to see a sphinx," said Luna in her faraway voice. "The fiercesome body of a huge lion, the enormous wings of a great eagle, the beauteous face and bosoms of a heavenly woman, the razor-sharp intellect of a–"

But Ron had rolled back on his bed giggling madly. Harry was laughing too, with his face buried in his hands.

Hermione was shaking her head in disbelief. _Boys!_ She threw up her arms in resignation, but then began to visualise the strange creature that Luna had described. "Perhaps it _would_ be best if only us girls go – at least as far as the sphinx – then I'll get the treasure and we can be back in time for tea."

"B-but I know a few riddles!" gasped Ron, trying to suppress his merriment.

"Not the sort you sing at a Quidditch match, Ron!" quipped Hermione, then added with a sly smirk, "Suddenly interested in the sphinx's charms are we?"

It was the girls' turn to laugh.

.

Back To The Future

Hermione was still planning for the journey a couple of days later at home but that evening her parents were absorbed in a movie they'd rented...

 _Mom. That you?_ came from the television.

 _There, there, now. Just relax. You've been asleep for almost nine hours now._

"Dad...?" whispered Hermione, trying to be discreet.

"Mmm...?" Mr Granger had his feet up and his mind was on the movie playing on the family video recorder.

 _I had a horrible nightmare. I dreamed that I went... back in time. It was terrible._

"Dad, could you cut something in half for me?" Hermione said as casually as possible.

Her mother burst out, "Heavens, Hermione! You're old enough to use scissors – in the drawer." Mrs Granger pointed at the sideboard without taking her eyes off the television.

 _Well, you're safe and sound now, back in good old 1955._

"It's not just paper," said Hermione.

 _NINETEEN-FIFTY-FIVE!_

Mr Granger sighed and paused the VHS. "Like what then?"

Mrs Granger yelped. "Ohhhwuh.. hang on! Was that girl Marty's mother!" She tried to wrestle the remote control from her husband.

"Like... a mirror? said Hermione. "Yes, Mum, that's Marty McFly's mother before she got married but she doesn't know he's her son and he thinks she's his mother – well she is – but he's not seen how young she is yet so then they–"

"A mirror!" Edward Granger felt the remote pulled from his suddenly-limp grasp.

"Yes, you've got a glass cutter haven't you?"

"Yes, but... so... your magic not good enough for a bit of do-it-itself, eh?"

"Uumm... I can blast it, break it, burn it, vanish it, and probably transform it into ice, but I don't know how to cut it neatly in half."

"Well then, looks like your old non-magical dad is of some use after all!"

"You're the best, Dad. I've put it in the workshop. And... make two frames, one for each half?" She tagged that on the end in the hope he'd nod without listening properly.

Edward Granger rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Why don't you let me paint your bedroom, fix your teeth and teach you the flamenco while we're at it?"

"I hate braces, you know that!"

"You'll think differently in a few years time when you start getting interested in boys."

"Edward!"

"Well she will."

"If a boy is so shallow that he rejects me solely because I'm slightly bucktoothed then I'm better off without him," the little girl declared scornfully. "Anyway, I can fix my teeth anytime."

"What!" Mr Granger swung his legs off the pouffe and sat upright to study his daughter's expression. "Then why don't you?"

"They make me appear less threatening and more vulnerable, and therefore less suspect. Anyway... looks aren't everything."

Edward exchanged glances with his wife, then said slyly, "You're waiting for Harry, _aren't_ you?"

"No I'm not." Hermione's cheeks pinked slightly and she groaned inwardly.

"Better watch out. I've seen the way he looks at that evenly-toothed Ginny Weasley..."

"What! When?" Hermione leaned forward and stared at her father.

He grinned. "Got you!" He looked across at Anne. "So... it _is_ Harry."

"Oh, don't tease her, Edward..." Mrs Granger pressed play on the remote.

" _You're my mah...! You're my mah...!"_

" _My name is Lorraine... Lorraine Baines."_

"Dad...?"

" _Yah! but you're hah...! You're so hah...! so... thin!"_

"Any chance you could do it by Wednesday morning?"

Anne Granger sighed and froze the movie again. "Hermione, your dad works hard all year – can't you let him relax through the break? Christmas is for family not for work."

"Well..." said Mr Granger.

"Edward, you promised."

"Yes, you're right, Anne. Anyway, even if I cut the mirror tomorrow I doubt I could reframe two mirrors by Wednesday. Leave it a few days, Hermione and I'll take a look."

"Besides," said Mrs Granger, "you're staying at Luna's Wednesday-Thursday, remember, Hermione? Surely the mirror can wait till after?"

Hermione nodded and rose to her feet. "I suppose... yes, I can manage." It would have been nice to have a quick way to communicate with Luna or Ginny if there was an emergency in Albania, she grouched to herself. The diaries would do – so long as there was time to write a message. As she trudged off upstairs to her room she listened for a change of heart from her parents but all she could hear was the television once more...

" _I've never seen purple underwear before, Calvin."_

Hermione groaned and closed her door rather firmly. If she had one regret about her new life, it was that she'd probably never again enjoy a movie she'd not already seen more than once already. Still, at least so many good books had been written, she'd need several lifetimes to read them all.

.

The Fairest of Them All?

Not long after breakfast the next morning, Anne Granger began hoovering up pine needles from under the Christmas tree and Mr Granger took to gazing out the kitchen window until the noise was over. The garden looked quite drab at this time of year – leaves needed raking again and the wisteria could use a good prune – but he'd promised his wife they'd spend more time together during the festive season. Still, he did have an hour with nothing to do while Anne was busy making all that racket...

An idea occurred to him and he fetched his coat from the hall, then raised his voice to carry over the heavy whine of the vacuum cleaner. "Thought I'd take that cassette back to the rental. I could use some fresh air. You didn't want to watch it again, did you?"

"What'd you say?" The machine droned on.

" _Back to the Future_ – we've finished with it, right?" He held up the videocassette – Anne nodded – and he thrust it into the empty carrier bag from the top of the vegetable rack.

As he slipped quietly out the back door, Anne finished vacuuming around the spruce tree, and sighed as the sound of the cleaner motor slowly faded away, leaving the room in a blissful peace. She coiled up the cable then, glancing at the clock, left it to fetch a small beef joint from the freezer, ready to thaw.

Edward eased himself quickly into the garden shed and closed the door before looking around his workshop. "Ah!"

It was quite a small mirror that lay upon his bench and he wondered why Hermione wanted it reduced even further. Still, he'd felt a bit guilty after the movie had finished last night. Hermione had been trying hard not to show her disappointment, and the least he could do would be to measure up the work to be done.

He shook his head at the existing frame; it was gilded metal and, although he was handy with small craftwork, he'd no experience with working a material like that. However, he did have a cracked old box made of walnut he could cannibalise. After retrieving his rule from the toolbox, he turned over the mirror and scribbled down the measurements on the back...

Twenty minutes later, Anne was almost finished tidying up. She put the vacuum cleaner away in the cupboard under the stairs. "Hermione!" she called. "You finished up there yet? And did you sort out your travel bag for tomorrow? Don't leave it late! I'm making a coffee. Want one?"

"Yes, yes, and..." Hermione came thundering down the stairs like a herd of elephants, "...and yes, please."

She looked around. "Where's Dad?"

"Gone to the video store to get another movie."

"So why's he not taken this one back?" Hermione prodded the carrier bag hidden at the side of the sofa.

Anne frowned then went went to the kitchen window. "Well I'll be a..."

"What? A monkey's uncle? Technically you'd have to be a monkey's aunt." Hermione opened up the Daily Prophet which had arrived earlier and scowled. The Auror office was investigating a strange occurrence last night where a group of rowdy Muggles had all thrown themselves off a bridge into the Thames. She riffled through the pages. Skeeter had still not mentioned anything about the yellow paint incident at the inquiry. Good.

She looked up, wondering where the coffee had got to. "Mum? What is it?"

Anne Granger was staring out the window. She'd glimpsed her husband at the shed window and had been stewing over it. "I think he's working. After what we agreed." She released a sigh of resignation. "Oh, well, I'll take him coffee and biscuits – no, I won't! I'll tell him there's coffee and biscuits waiting for him in the kitchen so he can damn well come and sit with his family or he's in trouble."

As Mrs Granger stomped out of the backdoor, Hermione giggled and continued reading. Another burglary in Diagon Alley – still, there seemed to be less of them these days. She turned the page then looked sideways as a thought occurred to her. _Dad working?_ She jumped up and trotted after her mother.

Anne Granger had an impish grin on her face and a raised rolling pin in her hand as she silently opened the shed door. But another woman's voice could be heard coming from inside...

"Oh, Edward darling, please let me look at you, I've been waiting so long..."

Mr Granger said, "Would you at least put your clothes on before my–?"

Anne Granger screamed. Hermione, who was already jogging down the garden path towards her, accelerated into a run. She pushed past her distraught mother who was furiously pulling out spades and hoes as she searched the tool cupboard, took in the image of her shocked father and the mirror he was trying to hide behind his back, and dodged beside him. Seizing the mirror she looked into it. Calla from the curio shop was lounging in a negligee on her couch, and looking straight at her.

"Oh, erm... sorry," said Hermione, "but Mummy and Daddy are busy right now."

" _WHAT!"_ cried Calla, her face turning white, "He's...? he's...? and you're...? you're...?"

"That's right. Thank you for the party dress; it's lovely. Oh, and thanks for the mirror too. Goodbye."

She put the mirror face down on the bench and, pulling out her wand, began chanting over it. When she looked up, both her parents were staring at her with a mix of horror and annoyance on their faces.

"Hermione!" shrieked her mother. "What have you been up to now! Who was that... that... harlot!"

Back in the parlour ten minutes later, both the mood and the coffee were somewhat tepid as Mrs Granger continued to fume, despite Hermione's explanation.

"But Anne," said Edward, "I've told you, I was so startled that my hand shook and I turned the mirror away so she never saw me properly. She thought I was this... Adam person. It was like a wrong number – I just said no, my name's Edward."

"And you've never met her?"

"Of course not – she's a witch!"

"And how would you know that without – oh, no, don't tell me she was wearing only a witch's hat!"

"She was talking out of a mirror for crying out loud!" cried Edward. He rounded on Hermione who was trying ineffectively to hide under a cushion on her chair. "And why didn't you tell me the mirror was... magical!"

"I got it cheap as half of a matched pair but I never expected the shopkeeper to use the other one. I've uncoupled it now, so she won't be able to use it again."

She abandoned her safety cushion and headed for the hall stairs.

"So what use would it be then?" her father called after her.

"Once it's cut then the two halves will naturally be attuned to each other without any further magic." Her voice faded as she ascended the stairs. "Then Luna can use it like a mobile."

Mr and Mrs Granger exchanged glances. "What did she say?" said Anne.

"Sounded like, 'a mobile'. Maybe Luna's going to hang the two pieces in her room. That girl's sometimes a bit... odd."

.

The Wherewithal

Rodney Dunn was a very unusual Muggle; he knew about magic and was smart enough to keep quiet about it. But then, he understood a great deal about many things. He had never fully mastered any one discipline, yet he excelled in several by having a mind brimming with curiosity and a need to satisfy that urge. So naturally he was pleased to receive any guest who added to his knowledge.

"Well, well, Ms Skeeter. What have you brought for me today?" His eyes were on the crocodile handbag gripped by long crimson fingernails as he admitted her into his home. He enjoyed her gifts; she knew his needs well.

As they sat down opposite each other at the smallest table in his overly-furnished lounge, she drew a dull string of tiny grey beads from her bag. "Don't be deceived. It's a charm bracelet that makes one less conspicuous – for use in awkward or opportune moments."

She tossed it over to him and only the immediacy of the tabletop obscured his fumbled catch, else it would have landed on the carpet. If his attention had not been so absorbed in the trinket he might have noticed a dark smile flicker across her face; Rita always rejoiced at any sign of weakness. The bland wristlet was only the feeblest of notice-me-not charms, but he was not to know that.

Dunn kept his own smile within himself. He was well aware of the visitor's devious trading – but also knew she was ignorant of the value of the lowliest magical bauble to a wise Muggle.

"Try it on," said Skeeter. He did so.

Her attention soon wandered around the room. Most of the illumination came from the fire in the grate but she could see well enough. She frowned – very slightly – picked up her bag and headed for the door.

"Ms Skeeter?" He knew the game she was playing.

"Mmm...?" She stopped and turned around with a puzzled expression on her face.

He removed the bracelet.

"Ah! Sorry," she said, "I'm getting so absent-minded these days."

He fanned his face and yawned sympathetically. "Yes, it _is_ rather stultifying in here," he replied. "Perhaps a cool drink?" He went over to the cluttered mantelpiece and rang a little bell. While his hand was yet on the bell and obscured from his guest's view, he slipped the bracelet back on and pushed it high up under his sleeve.

"And what did you wish in return for your kind gift?" he asked. He'd had to push aside a Toby jug to make room for his elbow on the mantel end so he could lounge back motionless in relative shadow and study Rita from a different perspective.

Again she was reaching into the bag but like her host, her hand remained where it was, for there was a knock on the door and a middle-aged woman entered.

"Oh... excuse me, Madam." The newcomer glanced swiftly around the room. The chamber had the gloomy confusion of far too much Victoriana, dark wallpaper, and the over-contrasting fireplace glare. "Sorry, Madam, did you ring the bell?"

Skeeter waited for Dunn to reply but he did not immediately do so. A slightly awkward silence ensued – just long enough for Rodney to discover what he wanted to know. "It was I, Mrs Williams, could you–?"

The woman started slightly. "Oh, sorry, Mr Dunn, I didn't see you there."

"Quite alright. Could you bring us iced tea and perhaps some of your orange soda?"

"Very good, sir." She withdrew from the room, closing the door very softly behind her.

"My landlady is not the brightest crayon in the box but she is dutiful."

Rita, whose hand was still held within her crocodile's maw, replied, "No need to explain. I understand perfectly." And she did. And he knew that she did. That's what made the game interesting. As was the item she next pulled out of her bag.

He frowned. Not often was he surprised or puzzled for long, but the slender rod of yellow she held up looked so odd in the current situation he could not place what it might be, even when he drew near.

Skeeter explained. "I believe it's a writing device – probably a Muggle pen, I would think."

"Curious..." He took it from her, examined it, then, trying not to show his disappointment, he nodded. "Paint. It's been dipped in paint?"

"In a way. The thing is, I'd like to know whose it is."

Dunn smiled. "There's sufficient plastic showing to indicate it's a common Bic ball-point pen. Billions of these have been made. If you're hoping for an engraved initial, you'll be out of luck. We only have personal names on more expensive pens – unless it was picked up in a doctor's or corporate waiting room, in which case it would only have the business name stamped on it."

Well she knew Dunn's obsessive appetite for knowledge; she waited. Her lack of comment he noted and looked again at the pen. He could feel the bracelet very softly gripping his forearm and he wanted to keep it quite badly. "There might be a way... do you have any suspects?"

"I do."

"Ah... and might you procure say, a garment? Or a shoe, a fingernail clipping, a few drops of blood? Even a few hairs would do – but make sure you don't touch it yourself."

Skeeter's gaze gave nothing away of her surprise. Did he intend to make a magical potion? She'd love to contribute a few pints of Xenophilius Lovegood's vital fluids. "That might be possible, yes."

"The difficulty would be in removing the paint without destroying any evidence beneath it."

"Evidence?"

"We call it DNA. Tell me, did anyone else handle it before it was coated in paint? Did you?"

"No, someone was writing with it shortly before it was... covered."

"I see" – he didn't – "I'll need to make inquiries, but I suspect it could take weeks to remove this stuff without damage. Are you not able to... draw it off with your wand? I've seen you do some amazing things."

Skeeter sighed. "I practised on an old painting – it tore the canvas. The portrait wasn't very happy about it either. Then I–"

"Excuse me?" frowned Dunn. "The portrait wasn't... what?"

"Just an expression – forget about it. I then tried to vanish the paint but the entire picture disappeared, even the frame. It's exceeding difficult to be precise with that kind of magic."

"I see. And where do portraits go _to_ , exactly, when they...?"

 _Die._ She knew that's what he'd been about to say – there was an eagerness in his expression to learn more about what she'd let slip. But Rita Skeeter wasn't about to give such details away for nothing – only that which was obvious came free from her mean-spirited disposition. "Vanished objects go into non-being of course. The reverse of existence, where else?"

She rose up quickly to avoid further questioning. "I'll provide you with the wherewithal in due course, Mr Dunn. Good day to you."

He'd let her out and returned with the phone book to the parlour to consider his plans, when Mrs Williams reappeared with a tray. "Oh... drat," the good woman murmured, looking around a little more carefully this time. Then she took the refreshments and left without another word, shaking her head.

Rodney Dunn smiled. He'd employed his landlady because she was smart, useful, and observant... for a Muggle.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	27. 0:Ordeal By Enigma

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort died early, she has formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and ultimately seek cooperation between Muggles and Magical societies. Ravenclaw's Diadem is needed to save Mrs Lovegood so Hermione, Luna, and Ginny must search in Albania. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 27**

 **Ordeal By Enigma**

* * *

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Little Pleaders

"Mummy, please may we hunt for treasure in the woods?" Luna stood by Hermione and Ginny with a toy bucket and spade and a pleading, unrefusable, entirely-innocent expression in her eyes.

Mrs Lovegood left the breakfast dishes to wash themselves and turned around. "I suppose so – as long as you all wrap up warm."

"And may we take sandwiches and things on the expedition? We'll be back in time for tea."

Pandora smiled. "Promise me you'll all stay together and come back early if you're cold?"

"We promise," the three girls echoed each other.

"Very well, take your trainer wand and send up loud crackly red sparks if... if you get lost."

Luna giggled. "You know I never get lost!"

"I know you don't, darling – but just in case there's a problem, I'll hurry to find you."

Mrs Lovegood set to with her wand and soon had packs for all three girls. "There are hot-charmed drinks in there too, so be careful – and don't go too far into the woods."

"Oh, Mummy, we can never go further than halfway, can we?"

Luna's mother frowned – but with an expectant smile on her lips. "Why not?"

"Because if we go further than halfway _into_ the woods then we'll be coming _out_ again, won't we?"

"Very well, off you go – and be good, won't you children?"

"We will," chorused the three friends.

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The Quest for the Lost Diadem

As soon as the children entered the sparse strip of woodland below the hill and were out of sight of the house, Hermione took the small chunk of brown pottery out of her bag.

Luna was explaining to Ginny, "Well, I didn't say _which_ woods, did I? So you see it doesn't count as a fib, does it? – oh, is that the Portkey?" There was a trace of disappointment in her expression. Perhaps she'd been expecting a more exciting symbol to commence their grand adventure.

Hermione nodded and looked at her watch. "Set for nine o'clock. We're a bit early."

They looked around, each with their own thoughts. The day was bright but the wintering trees were bare of leaves. The only movement was a chaffinch foraging amongst the scattered ground clutter, and a slight swaying of branches in the cold breeze. Ginny shuddered and wrapped her scarf more snugly around her neck.

"Don't worry, Albania's milder than this," said Hermione, nervously examining her watch again. "Right, let's not leave it till the last second – take hold." She held out the piece of pot and two thick-gloved hands fumbled out, clumsily knocking it down into the drifts of leaf litter. They all dived and began scrabbling.

"Find it quickly! There's only half a minute to go!"

"Summon it!" cried Ginny.

Hermione hesitated, knowing a fragile object can break under a forceful summons if it were wedged or obstructed. Luna found the enchanted object first by taking off a glove and feeling for it amongst the loose material – the others seized it only moments later. Then, in a swirl of dead leaves, the three young witches vanished, leaving the startled chaffinch to speed away up to the safety of the trees.

Sunshine and warm air greeted them as they touched down amongst the shrubbery within a high-walled garden. They quickly tucked away their heavy travel cloaks, scarves and gloves into Hermione's bag and began trudging alongside the wall looking for a gate that would lead them outside so they could fly away. Ginny said they'd find it faster if they flew on their broomsticks. Luna smilingly suggested they fly over the wall and unlock the gate from the other side. Hermione scowled at her wit and pulled the three forgotten brooms out of her copious bag.

Once outside, the three glided low for Hermione's sake, and she'd cast invisibility on them all so they could follow the road signs without being seen. For most of an hour they chatted, Luna waved unseen at the big Muggle trucks and wobbled the girls' tightly-packed brooms – much to Hermione's consternation, but Ginny kept a firm grip on Hermione to keep her upright. On and on they sped, pausing here and there only for Luna to look at the sheep and cows in the surrounding fields, until finally the suburbs of Peshkopi came into view. The concealment spell was just beginning to wear off by the time they had skirted the city and headed east towards the wooded mountain slopes and their final destination: Gyp Rrezikshme.

"What exactly are we looking for?" piped up Ginny, once they were so far into the wilderness there was no further need for invisibility.

Hermione tried to control her rapid breathing before she answered; she was glad of her friends' company but they'd had to gradually fly higher to skim the great oak forest and without Luna and Ginny pinning her in securely on either side, she'd have been more than anxious. "She said the forest had been funnelled into a long chasm so I suppose we should be looking for any ridges jutting out from the mountains ahead."

" _Who_ said?" Luna asked, raising her voice against the wind billowing her hair. Her blonde tresses had grown down over her shoulders again during the year, and now the buffeting of the slipstream rendered the strands as straggly as ever they were.

"Uuh... someone who knew where the treasure was."

"She told you that?"

Hermione confirmed that she had.

"So she buried a valuable treasure, asked a sphinx to guard it, yet told you where it is?"

"Mmm... not exactly." Hermione knew Luna was playing twenty questions: trying to find out all she could from seemingly innocent inquiries.

But Luna persisted. "You said she told you she hid it and where – so she 'not exactly' asked a sphinx? Inexactly...? Indirectly? She asked someone else to ask the sphinx! Or someone else did it anyway, and she only knew about it?"

Hermione did not answer.

"Who might it be, I wonder?"

"Look, I can't–"

"What about there?" said Ginny, pointing ahead.

"Where?" said Hermione, glad of the diversion.

"Those long lines of rocks sticking up through the trees ... where that eagle's flapping about – see?"

Hermione shook her head. "Can't see anything..."

Ginny saw where she was looking. "No, further – by the side of that crag."

"Way out there? I thought you meant..." Hermione stiffened on the broom and the others felt Hermione dragging back and slowed with her. "Down! Get down below the canopy out of sight!"

The three swooped down a little to treetop height where they could still glimpse the creature above the leafery. "Ginny, that must be miles away! You didn't really think that was an eagle did you?"

"Well, uumm..."

Luna wasn't speaking. She had a kind of far-off rapturous expression on her face and was murmuring dreamily to herself over and over, "A real sphinx... it's a real live sphinx..."

Hermione tried to convey the seriousness of the situation. "It must be guarding the place from the air and might attack on sight. I should have known. We'll have to continue at ground level," said Hermione.

They descended through thick foliage and slowed their broomsticks almost to walking speed a few feet above the ground. An earthy, organic smell enveloped them and the density of branches closing in overhead cast a gloom over the company. A deathly stillness held the forest in its embrace. Hermione was affected by a sense of the long years from her previous life when Voldemort's loveless spirit had wandered here in painful desolation after he had murdered James and Lily.

After they had flown in silence for over a mile, their mood had become even more sombre, and the route was becoming so tangled they had slowed almost to a halt. Luna said, "You should tell us everything, don't you think?"

They landed when they found a fallen log to sit on, and Hermione drew out three hot beakers of tea. She thought long and hard before speaking. "It's for your mother, Luna. ... I know everything. Why you tried to visit Hogwarts and–"

Luna breathed out, "Man's greatest treasure..."

Hermione nodded. "I found a memo at the school and I guessed what it meant. I realised your mother was seeking the lost diadem so I decided to help."

Luna stared over the warm drink clutched between her hands. "You spoke to the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw?"

"We made a bargain. Your mother may use the diadem once only, then it must be returned to Hogwarts. Do you think she'll agree?"

Luna gazed inwardly. "Mummy will be so, so happy. I'm sure she'll promise – but I'll be in so much trouble..."

"It was the Bloody Baron who–"

"–Excuse me, but what are we talking about?" said Ginny.

Hermione explained. "The ghost of Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter haunts Hogwarts. She ran away with her mother's diadem but her mother sent a man after her – a would-be suitor. He tracked her down here in this forest, but when she heard him coming she hid the diadem. When she refused to return with him, he became violently angry. He... he killed her."

Ginny's cry of surprise was only partly subdued by her hand.

Continuing, Hermione said, "He searched around for the diadem without success then, filled with remorse, he first chanted an ancient ritual to summon a sphinx to guard the area, then killed himself. Both their ghosts returned to the castle where Rowena was dying – heartbroken by her daughter's betrayal of her trust."

"He's another Hogwarts' ghost?" said Luna.

"He is now known as the Bloody Baron."

Ginny said, "But if _he_ couldn't find the diadem then what chance have we?"

"Helena told me she hid it in a hollow tree at the narrow end of the ravine over a thousand years ago. The tree will be long gone by now but we can use magic to search the soil. It must still be there or the sphinx would have flown."

"Why couldn't the Baron have used magic?"

"He was distraught, beside himself with grief. Who knows what was going on his mind?"

"That is so romantically dreadful," said Luna mournfully. "We must not let Mummy have the diadem until she promises to honour Lady Helena's wishes."

Hermione sighed. "First we have to find it. Come on, drink up, and we'll walk the rest of the way."

As they proceeded, Hermione sensed the unseen rock walls of the chasm were pressing the forest trees inwards. There had never been any kind of track underfoot to follow, and there still wasn't, yet the trunks of the great oaks left so narrow a gap that just one route presented itself – and often only in single file.

The girls had again lapsed into a thoughtful mood by this time, mindful of what might lie ahead, and had ceased all conversation so they might pay more attention to their surroundings. But they had only the muffled stillness to listen to, for no birds sang, no wind stirred the leaves, not even a mouse scurried through the loose detritus underfoot. Looking up, the sky was obscured completely now – the only indication of its whereabouts being a faint glow here and there in the higher canopy. That was about to change.

Not far ahead they could see a patch of grass illuminated from above. As they approached, it was evident that the trees had been forced to space themselves out around a pool to form a tiny clearing – but to their dismay, the way beyond that appeared blocked by even more densely-packed oak. Yet before they emerged, a great wafting of air caused them to hold back in alarm. Descending into the glade was the sphinx, her baleful glare fixed on the intruders.

The creature stood proud, assessing them for a few moments, then settled herself down to silently await their incursion into its territory. Luna had been only half right – the sphinx was hideously beautiful, and beautifully hideous. For a moment, Hermione perceived her as centaur-like, for her shoulders and upper arms were bare – as were her throat and breasts – but there the likeness ended. The tawny fur-covered forearms stretching out before her ended in paws glinting with half-concealed claws. From the powerful deltoids of the beast sprang vast feathered wings folded close about her flanks and back. A mane of long dark-brown hair – reminiscent of a male lion's authority or perhaps a haughty Egyptian queen – framed her astonishing features, emphasising the high cheek bones, the expressionless eyes, and a jaw that, while distinctly feminine, boasted an outline suggestive of large, hidden fangs. She uttered not a word.

The three girls were unsure what to do. The narrow corridor down which they had arrived gave them a little protection, for surely this winged monster could not force its way between the tightly-packed oaks. Should they enter the glade? They would be at the creature's mercy if they did.

Pressing the others back, Hermione leaned forward and peered about. She whispered back over her shoulder, "There are two other passages forking away through the trees, one left, and one right. I could run round the water to either of them but I'm not sure I'd make it, and anyway, it seems unlikely it would be that easy."

Keeping her eyes on the sphinx, she stepped backwards until she bumped into Ginny before turning around. "This is where you two return," she whispered. "Wait for me where the trail widens. If I'm not back by–"

Her companions protested vigorously. "And do what?" said Ginny. "Fly our broomsticks all the way back to Ottery?"

Luna said, "And what if there are other dangerous creatures about? A Manticore is as deadly as a sphinx and could follow us where she can't. Besides, this is what we came for."

"No!" said Hermione, quite firmly, and folding her arms to emphasise her position.

"Can't you... you know, make us all non-solid, and go right through?" said Ginny.

"I might, but remember the view from overhead? There's a very long way to go yet, so that would only get us across the clearing safely and a little way into the trees again. I can't maintain that magic for more than a few minutes."

"So? Isn't that all we need?"

"And what then? Who knows what that thing is capable of? I don't fancy upsetting her, do you? Imagine us running to we-don't-know-where with that creature flying ahead of us!"

"Then do your... thing again," said Ginny.

"For how long? I don't like getting into something I don't understand and having to repeatedly use exhausting magic – it would leave us vulnerable, maybe helpless."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Ginny pushed past Hermione and strode out into the clearing. The sphinx immediately lifted itself up to tower over the little girl and released a terrible roar that shook the nearest trees and collapsed Ginny to a trembling cringe.

Hermione had already drawn her true wand and rushed forward to Ginny's side, with Luna right behind her.

"Declare your purpose here or be devoured!" thundered the noble chimera.

Hermione froze. Everything depended on her saying the right thing. Luna gazed dozily up at the tiny gap of blue in the canopy above.

Ginny rose shakily to her full height again, but her voice was both squeaky and shaky. "If you p-please ... w-we're looking for the l-lost diadem of R-Ravenclaw!"

The sphinx growled ominously, "Then together you may ask a single question. But be warned, on alternate days I speak only truth or only lies."

The Weasley girl glared and put her hands on her hips in a pose she'd so often seen her mother use to dominate a situation. "Then how are we supposed to–?"

The sphinx roared its fury once again and stepped forward. Ginny tentatively moved one leg half a step back but held firm. Hermione clamped a hand over Ginny's mouth and drew the audacious girl slowly backwards to the relative safety of their entryway.

"Don't waste our question!" hissed Hermione. "If we choose the wrong path then..." She slashed a hand across her throat.

"But it's an impossible question!" pouted Ginny. "We can never know whether the sphinx is telling the truth or not."

"There must be a way. We all need to discuss it and think before doing anything impulsive. Luna, have you got any ideas what the – WHERE'S LUNA!"

Luna was still before the sphinx, dreamily examining her shape and size. The creature glared at her for a while, then settled itself down again.

" _Luna!"_ hissed Hermione " _Get back here!"_

"Oh, sorry!" said Luna, and came scurrying back. "She's wonderful, isn't she!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

The three girls sat down together to decide what to do. Hermione and Ginny occasionally made a suggestion but mostly they just sat and thought. Luna, who had remained at the threshold of the little glade continued to stare up at the little patch of sky above. Most of the next hour passed and still Hermione was perplexed. Ginny had given up entirely and was all for running down one path or another, whatever happened. Luna remained still.

"I think you're right," Hermione said to Ginny at last. "Obviously there is no direct solution. I think it's some sort of test of character but what response should we make?"

"Let me ask something." Luna was on her feet.

"No Luna!" cried Hermione. "We need to analyse it a bit more first!"

But Luna fearlessly approached the sphinx and, pointing to the path on her right, said, "If we could ask you tomorrow, does that way lead to the diadem, what would you reply?"

The sphinx replied, "Yes."

"Thank you," said Luna, and walked instead towards the other entry. "Come on, it's this way."

"WAIT! WAIT!" yelled Hermione and Ginny together, but Luna was already on the trail. With a terrified glance at the sphinx, they ran after her.

"We're with her!" Ginny shouted over her shoulder, as they dashed into the narrow passageway.

"What were you thinking, Luna!" cried Hermione.

"You just guessed, didn't you?" said Ginny. "It was a lucky guess."

They trudged on, lapsing again into silence as the path narrowed until they were often bunched up, one behind the other, once more.

"Oh, I know!" Ginny's sudden cry startled them. "If she'd said 'no' then we'd have come back tomorrow and asked again, right?"

"We can't. We were only allowed one question," replied Luna.

Excitedly, Hermione butted in, "But that must mean we're allowed one question every day because she not only answered you today but told you what her answer would be tomorrow!"

"No, I only asked if we _could_ ask tomorrow. Her answer was what she would say if we _could_ ask it tomorrow – but she knows we can't."

Hermione blinked at that. Ginny gaped. They all fell mute again as they trudged onward.

"So... today... she was lying, right?" said Ginny at last.

Hermione sniffed. "Of course not. The sphinx was telling the truth."

They continued walking.

"Well, Luna?" huffed Hermione. "Which was it? Was she telling the truth or lying?"

"I honestly don't know," said Luna.

A cry of frustration came from Ginny. "I knew it! You just guessed like I said."

"Sshhh... I'm trying not to think because there must be at least two more."

"WHAT!" shrieked Ginny. "Two more sphinxes? No way!"

"Why?" frowned Hermione.

"Because this path is much too narrow for the sphinx to chase and eat us so it would not have been too difficult to race our brooms over the pool and past her, would it?"

"You mean...?" said Ginny, nervously biting her lip.

"Well, there must be a second sphinx to prevent anyone else entering from above while we kept the first one occupied – that's the sphinx we first saw from a distance on our brooms. And if this were the wrong way then a third sphinx would devour us when we reach the next little clearing. That's why there's just enough sky above for them to fly down."

Hermione and Ginny stopped. Ginny said, "But you said this is the right way!"

Luna paused to look back at the other two. She had a puzzled expression on her face. "No, this is the left way."

Hermione released a long breath of exasperation. "Luna, are we safe down this path or not, yes or no?"

"Only until we reach the next sphinx. Come on." She turned and strode off. After a moment's hesitation, her companions followed.

After a long while, Ginny grumbled, "How much further? I'll be all gristle by the end then it won't want to eat me."

"Sshhh... I'm trying to think," whispered Hermione, "that riddle was really hard but I'd almost got it."

Luna whispered that she herself was trying _not_ to think. "–and the next one might be hard."

As they rounded another thick grouping of trees there was a glimmer of light ahead.

"Wait, wait!" hissed Ginny. She slowed down, uncertain of their prospects.

But Hermione stopped completely. "I think I've got it!"

Luna came patiently back.

Hermione took a deep breath. "If this _is_ the correct way then the other way – the one you pointed to – is the wrong way. So if the sphinx was telling the truth then she'd have to honestly tell you that tomorrow she'd lie and say 'yes' – right? But if the sphinx wasn't telling the truth then she'd know that tomorrow she'd tell the truth and say 'no' – so she lied about what she would say tomorrow and said 'yes' – right?"

"But that means she'd have said 'yes' whether she's lying or not!" grumbled Ginny.

"That's right!" smiled Luna. "You've got it at last. Come on..."

"But how do you know this is the way then? I mean, I'd really like to know before we become dinner."

Luna looked at her very oddly. "Because if I'd pointed to _this_ path then she'd have said 'no' whether she was lying or not, wouldn't she?" She set off again with the others in pursuit.

They saw the next clearing from afar, for the sun had risen during the morning to illuminate a more spacious, dipped area with room for half a dozen sapling oaks to stretch up and adorn the place with their youthful vigour.

"It's a sweet little fairy dell!" cried Luna. "See?"

"She's got wings – but that's no fairy," said Ginny, pointing to the opposite side.

When it saw them, the waiting creature did not merely roar – it emitted a lengthy siren-like shriek that hurt their eardrums, and revealed teeth like the needles in a giantess's sewing box.

Hermione looked around for two exits but saw none.

"It's behind her," whispered Ginny. "No chance of brooming past this ugly great buzzard."

Another shriek was uttered – louder than the first – and the beast was clearly salivating. "Is that your answer?"

Ginny clutched at her ears and held on until they stopped ringing. "No, no, I was just telling the others about your... hugely... great-cious... erm... _buzzom?"_

Luna said to the sphinx, "If you wish an answer then what is your question?"

Clearly disappointed at having to remain hungry for a while longer, the sphinx settled down, drew in a great breath of air, then began to speak:

" _One summer, Hilda Natts and her parents moved to a new home in the centre of a neat row of seven redbrick houses. Over the next few weeks she tried hard to make friends but was disappointed to find the occupants had little in common. Although they all had single children they were each of a different age from 11 to 17, all were only interested in one school subject, and they varied as to pets and even their favoured form of transport. What was worse, four of them were in different houses at Hogwarts while the other three attended European schools."_

"WAIT! WAIT!" cried Hermione, pulling out her notebook and pen. "What was that bit again?"

But the sphinx paid no more attention to the little girl's cries than if they'd been the sizzling of a sausage in a frying pan just before breakfast. She continued:

" _Annoyed, the girl persuaded her parents to paint their house a different colour to the others, but the little dog next door on the left barked every time they climbed the ladder, and anyway, the day after, the others had all done likewise except for the smart Ravenclaw on her immediate right. The Gryffindor's house was blue. It was nearest the quietest pet and as far away as possible from the owl that hooted every night atop its white chimney. The bird's mistress liked to study the magical plants she grew in her garden but was so angry when next door's pig broke through their adjoining fence and ate her dirigibles one Sunday, that, after herding it back, she walked off with his broomstick all the way to the canal and with a churlish "Voila!" threw it in. As usual, he blamed Silas Blimple, the Latin scholar who lived in the purple-fronted home, despite that entire family having driven to the coast for a long weekend."_

Hermione groaned, fingers cramped around her ball-point pen, scrabbling for all she was worth. Ginny was trying to help by pointing out her misspellings. Luna was, once more, gazing up at the sky.

" _Galorian Pim was a spoilt twelve-year-old and permitted to Floo-in ingredients so he could prepare potions in the basement which he'd then been testing on his mouse. The poor creature had escaped next door but sadly was eaten by the dog while its owners were away. In consequence, the Pims' house was repainted black at Galorian's insistence._

" _Seventeen-year-old Irwin loved Charms lessons most of all. He came from a long line of Doughty pure-bloods and lived next to the green house. Caradoc Slink had the largest pet and frequently leaned over the wall of his garden to scoff at the members of the Dolus family resident there. Akbar Ahmadi was the youngest of the seven children in the little row of houses and already missed being able to use the family carpet to get about. If his pet was a dove and there was a toad in the garden of the yellow house, then who had the fish?"_

"Oh, I love general knowledge questions!" cried Luna, sitting down on the warm grass to scatter her thoughts away.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Luna, it's an elimination logic problem. I know this one. It's based on Einstein's riddle but that only had five houses. You need to be a genius to work it out in your head. However..." She sat down beside Luna and dug out her notebook. "There are fewer than 5000 combinations so I should be able to work them all out in less than an hour." She drew out a large pad of graph paper, a twelve-inch ruler, and several marker pens.

"Well I don't like pig boy," said Ginny, joining them on the ground. "He sounds like a stinking Slytherin to me. And Silas must be a Muggle if he studies Latin and his family drive a car. The French-speaking girl who likes walking probably goes to Beauxbatons, but she's got the owl so it can't be her. I rather fancy Irwin because he was the only one smart enough to leave his house red, so he's probably a Ravenclaw, plus he's old enough to Apparate so perhaps he keeps his fish in the canal."

Hermione, who, by now, had already ruled several neat horizontal and vertical lines and put Hilda Natts in the middle, snorted her derision. "That is the daftest–"

"Ginny's right – oh, sorry," said Luna, and continued gazing up at the little patch of sky above.

"Luna! Aren't you even trying to solve this one?" said Hermione, her red marker pen poised deftly over the column to the right of Hilda.

"Try?" Luna frowned. "I thought it was your turn?"

Hermione let out a long sigh. "There are no _turns_ , Luna! The first one to come up with a sensible, convincing answer should be the one to answer the question."

She neatly shaded in the fifth column and held it up to what little light descended from above so she could peruse the effect. "Now... the little dog goes on the left... oh, there's not room for 'little' now. I suppose just writing 'dog' will do." She reached for her pencil.

"I could draw the little dog for you if you like," said Luna, helpfully.

"Erm... hadn't you better get started on your uuh... not thinking thing?"

"Well, it would be nice to draw the sphinx while we're all waiting for you," pouted Luna. "Excuse me, Miss Sphinx, do you mind if I draw you while we're here?"

"Be my guest," the sphinx smiled, licking her lips hungrily.

Hermione looked up and stared. "Luna, what are you doing? We're supposed to be solving the riddle."

"But Ginny and I did solve it, so it would be lovely if–"

"WHAT!" Hermione looked back and forth between the other two girls. "You think it's Irwin Doughty just because he might be a Ravenclaw so – d'uh! – he must keep a fish in the canal? That's plain barmy!"

"No, because a Dolus is a type of magical fish similar to the herring only it's red. It can't be the Muggle's pet because usually they can't see them, and all the other creatures are accounted for. Also, there's not enough information to work it out the hard way."

Hermione swallowed hard. Then she took a deep breath before whispering, "Okay, this is what we do... we edge away back into our safety tunnel then I call out the answer from there, right?"

"Our answer is Irwin Doughty," said Luna to the sphinx. "It was quite interesting, thank you."

"AAAGGHH!" cried Hermione leaping to her feet and dragging Ginny with her.

"Very well," hissed the sphinx, and moved sulkily away from the next passage entrance through the trees.

Luna confidently led the way with the others following. As they walked along, Hermione secretly decided to let the little blonde girl answer the next question first to save wasting any more time. Yes, that was the smart thing to do, she nodded to herself.

But even as they approached the end of this tight passage through the forest, not even Hermione could have anticipated the horror that lay ahead of them that would test even Luna's sufferance. It was to be a trial not only of their intellects but of their character and courage too.

Alongside the others, Luna's nerve was overwhelmed as they entered the next clearing, and she sank to her knees in a near-faint, Ginny beside her, and finally Hermione. The sphinx that stood there was far larger than her sisters and even more terrible in its grandeur and its warning cry. Looming high over them, a howl began as a banshee wail that rose in pitch and power to became a virtual tempest. The beast's wiry fur gathered a maelstrom of lightning that sizzled through the surrounding trees, singeing leaves and preventing any escape. The sky fell black as night and sank upon the girls, a whale of pressure compressing their flesh and bones down to breaking point.

Hermione could sense an awful presence far, far greater than herself – real or imagined no longer mattered. She had no right to be here, she knew. A lowly human, what entitled her to enter the domain of this god-like beast? SHE who commanded the world to grovel? SHE whose piercing glare was ice and fire? Those eyes now held hers, owned Hermione's soul and clutched her heart out from her chest. The features of this goddess were glory and dread from which no one could turn by will. The colossus shamed Hermione's audacious intrusion to where she could not live one moment longer without the sphinx's forgiveness.

The ground was shaking heavily beneath Hermione and no longer able to even kneel, she fell utterly prostrate, hugging the sharp ashen filth in an attempt to lower herself further into it – to render herself less than nothing. She could hear Ginny and Luna crying.

" _HOW ... DARE ... YOU ... DISTURB ...ME?"_ the thunder-goddess declared. "I who am the absolute beginning of the end, and the very end of time and space! I who am essential to creation, and surround everywhere!"

The wailing of both Luna and Ginny came to an abrupt end with their final death-cries in the jaws of the beast. Unbearable fear was breaking Hermione apart as crawling through her mind came the knowledge that the gaping maw of the death-sphinx was descending upon her too. As she was consumed, its breath was a scorching gale: "Answer me! What am I?"

 _I'm so sorry, Ginny! ... So sorry, Luna!_ In that moment, the gasping broken wails of both Luna and Ginny was repeated – only to be sundered a second time. Once more the mighty fangs crushed Hermione inside a searing furnace: "Answer me! What am–?"

Hermione screamed above the whirlwind, knowing, with absolute certainty, that she was right. "You're nothing but a symbol! You're the letter E!"

For a few moments a delicious silence took her in its arms, then birdsong could be heard. The warm sun lit her tear-streaked face; the rasping sound of Luna and Ginny breathing caressed her ears; the scraping ash had become the softest green moss. She sobbed for a while, knowing the sphinx had winged away, leaving all three girls freed by Hermione's answer.

Humbled that only another uncontrolled déjà vu experience had saved the lives of her friends, Hermione went to comfort them. Ginny could not speak, and Luna only in soft monosyllables.

In a dreamlike drowse, Hermione led them onwards without conscious purpose. Eventually the great stone cliffs that marked the end of the rift came into view and reminded her of why she had come. Alone, the young witch searched among the trees there for any obvious place to cast her spells, until at last she was compelled to use her wand to blindly scan for traces of magic. By this means she narrowed down her search to an area the size of a modest garden, and set to work.

The two other girls watched in a stupor as she called forth a wind to drive away the swathes of leaves and twigs that obscured the ground then, on hands and knees, crawled about, feeling the soil between the spread of her hands. They had never known magic like this but were too numb to do ought but observe. Hither and thither, Hermione seemed drawn in a spiral until at last she hit against a large oak blocking her way.

"Within its roots," they thought she murmured, before again feeling around the bole of the tree, down the bark, pushing her arms into the tangles of woody snakes that burrowed between the clods. Partway around the first side, she paused. Though still greatly subdued by shock, Luna came at last to join her.

"It's here!" breathed Hermione. "I can sense magic here."

She used a gentle summoning charm but felt the resistance of the thick roots so stepped further out from the tree and hauled sideways with her wand. The diadem came through the earth then, reluctantly at first, but eventually emerging like a fish being landed onto the ground. Hermione slowly lifted up the strange tiara, cleansed it of the still-clinging soil, and held it high so they could see the fruit of their endeavour and of their suffering.

The crown was a delicate circlet, its silver tarnished by the centuries spent in the earth, but the words, _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure,_ remained visible, glinting goldly in the leaf-scattered light of the setting sun. Mesmerised, she and Luna gazed upon the priceless relic. Even Ginny was drawn at last to look upon the wonder, though she had not spoken one word since the encounter with the third sphinx.

"We'd better go," said Hermione at last, after seeing Ginny's expressionless eyes, and glancing up at the darkening sky.

After stowing the tiara in her bag, she Apparated her friends directly to Devil's Deep in Hungary. Lost in thought, they did not question where they were, but Luna did gaze blankly around the imposing rock of the receiving cell where they stood while Hermione regathered her magical strength. Not long after, they had reached the bell tower, where Hermione rested briefly yet again, then they were swiftly back in the fringes of the woods near to Luna's home.

The winter sun had not yet set in this northern latitude, but was diminished by hazy cloud. Mrs Lovegood met them on the track down the hill. "Are there you are! I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten the time. I'm about to make tea."

"I'm sorry, Mrs Lovegood," said Hermione. "We should have come sooner. Ginny's tired out. I think she should go straight to bed."

Luna needed no persuasion to join her in an early night's sleep, leaving Hermione to talk with Pandora at the kitchen table...

.

The Pledge

Mrs Lovegood was no fool. She sensed there was something more to be known about the children's day in the woods. As she stirred the tea in the pot, she studied Hermione's expression. When the pot lid finally clunked down, the young girl did not wait to be asked.

"I know why Professor Dumbledore would not allow you a parental visit, Mrs Lovegood," she began.

Pandora's eyes narrowed. "Luna would never willingly break a promise. What did you do to her!"

Hermione shook her head. "Luna said nothing. I worked it out myself."

"Impossible."

"I saw the headmaster's memo to his deputy."

Mrs Lovegood rose angrily to her feet. "You enticed my daughter all the way to Scotland! How? Who took you! How did you get in? You'd no right without speaking to me first!"

Hermione did not disabuse Pandora of her assumption. "The need was very great."

"How? What do you mean?"

"Luna would not have told you, and I ask you not to tell anyone else, but I sometimes have... visions. I saw you endangered by a powerful spell – by the very spell you are trying to create."

Pandora sank slowly down into her seat once more. "I knew there was more to you than is evident. A child long-burdened can sound older than her years. A young girl should play while she can – you act more your age when you do. What happened to you, Hermione, or were you born with this gift? I often see suffering in your eyes."

Mrs Lovegood remembered the tea then, and began to pour.

"Because I see much that will happen if care is not taken. Great wisdom is needed to create the most advanced spells; you will fail without sufficient... wit."

Hermione's teacup rattled against its saucer in Mrs Lovegood's hand. She lowered it carefully before her guest. Her voice trembled too when she finally was able to speak. "You've s-spoken to _her_ haven't you? The Grey Lady?" Pandora's voice dropped to a strained whisper. "Has she told you where it is?"

"Mrs Lovegood, I know _precisely_ where Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem is."

By now, Pandora's face had turned quite pale, and she clutched at her cheeks in astonishment, her lips silently framing the word "Where?"

"You may use the diadem once only. I need your word, Pandora." There was a new authority in Hermione's tone.

"She agreed?" In a wonderment, Mrs Lovegood finally said. "The Founder's daughter herself? ... She'll allow me to...?"

Hermione nodded. "Once only. ... Your word, Pandora."

"Then I so pledge." Mrs Lovegood inclined her head almost in obeisance – but to whom or what, Hermione could not tell.

A kitchen table strewn with tea things seemed too lowly a place to reveal a grand treasure. Hermione went instead to a small corner beside the fireplace upon which stood only a simple pottery vase. She removed the vase to the hearth while Mrs Lovegood drew nearer, puzzled, but with an unthought suspicion dismissed out of hand for more likely explanations. Pandora should have paid the notion more heed. Her poor heart could scarcely comprehend that which Hermione drew from her bag and reverently placed on display.

Mrs Lovegood stared for several seconds, then knelt at the altar in an attitude of devotion, a prayerful murmur breathing from her lips, "Long have I sought thy measureless wisdom, O, Rowena..."

Hermione left her in the fireglow while she returned to the table to sip her tea. She watched Mrs Lovegood piously cleanse away the tarnish with her wand, leaving bright silver and glittering gems. The woman conjured up a brass-bound box of cedar and placed the diadem within it before bringing it back to the table. As the reality of what she held sank in, her lips began to tremble and there were tears welling in her eyes.

"You cannot imagine how much this means to me, Hermione, not only as a sacred antiquity but..."

"It's for Luna isn't it – your new magic? But she needs her mother far more than any spell."

Pandora nodded, and finally hot tears spilled down her cheeks. "I w-want s-so much for her to do well."

.

Promises

Though chastened, Ginny and Luna were closer to their normal selves after a good night's rest, and ready to return with Hermione to the Grangers home for half a day of Potions study.

Meanwhile, after Hermione had enchanted the diadem with the once-only protection she'd described, Pandora had hidden it away in a safe place. Hermione reassured her she might keep using it on the one problem until it was complete.

"If the development of any stage of your magical spell becomes obscure, place the diadem on your head and focus on the task in hand; Lady Helena assured me that inspiration will not be long in coming. Once you have accomplished your final aim then the diadem will return itself to Hogwarts under the Grey Lady's stewardship, until needed again by future heads of the school."

Pandora smiled. "And you'll test it for me like you said? To evaluate how best to employ the textbooks I bewitch?"

"I'll be glad to. I shall continue working with Luna and our other friends just as we have been doing."

"Thank you so much, Hermione," said Mrs Lovegood. "I'm sure Luna will have the best possible start in September. Now, you three, promise me you really are going to Hermione's for the morning and not off on some wild adventure!"

"We promise," smiled the three girls.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Questions – keep 'em coming! Skye suggested I consider splitting the story 'books' into separate fics because it is getting long already. My reason for aiming for one long epic is, admittedly, selfish: all the most popular fics are very long and have thousands of readers and reviews! (Go to story browser, select Harry Potter, then filter in order of follows or favourites.) What do others think?_

 _Lily and Jhotenko queried Calla's reason for selling the mirror so cheap. She's sex-hungry and when Adam showed personal interest in the little girl's frock she saw him as a sad, lonely, and vulnerable male. It was inconceivable to her that this big, pathetic-looking guy wouldn't fall for her charms. She didn't know the mirror could be retuned or split, so she saw its only value to Adam would be to communicate with her – why else would he buy a single two-way mirror? She believed they had an understanding so she saw the mirror as payment for his 'services' but at the same time expecting an opportunity to wheedle it back._ :D

 _Lily also wondered about Neville. Don't worry, I've got big plans for Neville and you'll see more of him before Hogwarts starts. But for now, he's only seeing Harry and still avoiding Hermione._ :)

 _Brit-speak for those who don't know: little plastic bucket and spade sets are traditional British seaside toys for building sandcastles._ :)

 _All of the riddles were traditional and modified by myself. I hope nobody did an Hermione and started making notes on graph paper for the Einstein riddle! It became so complicated with seven houses that the clues were becoming ridiculously lengthy (for use in a story) so I cut it short._ :)

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	28. 0:Separate Ways

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort died early, she has formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and ultimately seek cooperation between Muggles and Magical societies. Hermione, Luna, and Ginny recovered Ravenclaw's Diadem from Albania and Mrs Lovegood is using it to create a wonderful new teaching enchantment. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 28**

 **Separate Ways**

* * *

.

A Sad Announcement

As the Knight Bus hurtled towards Elmbridge, Luna and Ginny chatted quietly together. If they had changed at all after their ordeal with the sphinx, then perhaps they were a little older and wiser – certainly the two girls were not broken or diminished. Hermione watched them placidly, and allowed her mind to trouble itself over why Mrs Lovegood intended to wait until September before letting Luna's tuition be supported by the new magic. Had the witch – always intelligent – assumed Hermione's teaching to be so formal that the girl adhered to a school-year plan?

She had little time to ponder the matter for, with a heavy sway and a _screeeeel_ of brakes, the Knight Bus pulled up outside the Grangers' home. Hermione led Ginny and Luna in through the front door, and called out, "Mum, I'm home."

They hung up their cloaks and as Hermione was about to follow her friends into the lounge, she called up the stairs, "Mum...? Dad...?"

She became aware of the silent emptiness of the house. An ancient fear quickly took hold of her, and she ran through, calling out, "MUM! DAD!"

"There's someone down in the garden shed," said Ginny, "I think it's them."

Hermione rushed out and down the path, followed by her friends, and thrust open the shed door to find her parents... kissing.

"Hermione! Good Lord, is that the time!" Mr Granger said over his wife's shoulder. "We were just making uuh..."

"Making something – working together," Mrs Granger quickly added – though Hermione could not help noticing she looked a little flushed – "Hullo, you three," continued Mrs Granger in a slightly high voice. "Had breakfast? Shall I make us a cup of tea?"

"Working?" frowned Hermione, though with some relief. Parents had no right to be snogging at nine-thirty in the morning and panicking their only daughter just home from a dangerous quest – that was the sulky boot that now stomped its way through the girl's emotions.

"Well, if you can't beat them, join them," laughed her mother. "Your Dad was obviously keen to work on your mirror, so we did it together."

"You did? You've cut the mirror?" Immediately every snog was forgiven as Hermione's spirits lifted to the good news.

Mr Granger said, "Better than that, while you were lazing away at Luna's yesterday we divided them, rounded the sides somewhat" – Mrs Granger indicated with a finger that was her own idea – "and set them in acrylic overnight."

Mrs Granger went over to the bench. "We were just about to open the moulds when you came in."

 _Yes, I thought that's what you were doing,_ Hermione murmured to herself with a smile.

While the adults busied themselves fumbling with a couple of squishy, rubbery clumps that looked like mouldy grey vegetables, Luna whispered, "I want to learn kissing like that when I grow up. Daddy says it helps keep Wrackspurts at bay, so that's why he has to."

"Honestly, Luna," said Hermione, "Wrackspurts are so rare it's not worth the effort."

Ginny looked disappointed. "I thought grownups liked kissing?"

Their attention was diverted from answering as flashes of illumination twinkled out from between Mrs Granger's fingers.

"Ooo!" cried Hermione, for Mrs Granger had popped the first mirror into view and was holding it out. The mirror was a rounded ellipse centred within a softly-shaped crystal-clear lozenge. Hermione accepted it and marvelled at the pleasantly-smooth form within her hand. "It's exquisite!"

"And tough as well – here's the other one," said Mr Granger.

"These are just brilliant!" said Hermione. "Luna, this one is yours, and Ginny, this is yours."

Both girls squealed with delight and immediately began chatting to each other's reflections.

Ginny trilled in an excited voice, "We'll be able to see and talk to everyone the same as if they've come with us!"

"And after August, Harry can share one with our families!" cried Luna. "We'll all be together!"

Mr and Mrs Granger smiled at their reaction but Hermione was looking puzzled. "You mean _next_ year, don't you? Harry and I don't start at Hogwarts till _next_ year. And how could he share one with your–"

She stopped. The expression on the faces of her friends was one of contrition.

"We meant to tell you–" Ginny began quietly.

"–but we were all so happy yesterday," said Luna. "And Mummy didn't really say for sure until this morning."

The frown on Hermione's face deepened. 'Happy' was not how she would have described their experience with any of the sphinxes – especially the last one. "Say about what?"

Ginny nervously mumbled something that sounded horribly like " _Bow babbles."_

"Beauxbatons!" cried Hermione.

"Yes, it's all worked out wonderfully well, hasn't it!" said Luna. "Mummy promised if she could finish her spell then we could have our schooling in France instead. There'll still be holidays every year – and now we have these lovely mirrors too! And don't forget our super diaries!"

"We?" Hermione was almost afraid to ask.

"Me and Ginny. Mummy was so impressed with your idea of starting to learn magic early that–"

"YOU AND GINNY AREN'T GOING TO HOGWARTS?" shrilled Hermione, the significance of what they were saying finally sinking in. "But after all we've–"

"Calm down, Hermione," said her mother, "I'm sure we–"

"But I worked so hard to bring us all together," wailed Hermione. She rounded on Luna and Ginny. "Why didn't you say something?"

"We thought you'd be pleased," whimpered Ginny.

"Pleased!"

Luna said, "But it was your idea for us to start learning magic before we were eleven. Mummy wants to give me the best start in life she can, and we spoke to Mrs Weasley and she agreed too – Harry said it's our choice to make."

"So Harry's in on it too? But... but..." Hermione tailed off as, overwhelmed with a wave of conflicting emotions, she dashed out of the shed and disappeared into the house. With a sigh, her mother went after her.

Mr Granger wondered what to do with the two girls. "She'll come round... but perhaps you'd better skip today's lesson – Potions wasn't it?"

Ginny was also close to tears. Luna put an arm round her shoulder and nodded at Mr Granger. He walked them around the back alley to the street where he waited until they boarded the Knight Bus, then, in a cheerless mood, trudged slowly back into the house.

Only after Luna and Ginny had departed, did Hermione finally realise she had taken for granted that bringing everyone together early would automatically cement their friendship for life. Now the reverse had happened.

Up in her bedroom, Mrs Granger tried to comfort her. "But they'll be in touch – they'll still be your friends."

Face down on her bed, Hermione shook her head rather awkwardly. "And after I bought them diaries and wands and bus passes and all sorts...!" Deep within she knew she was being foolish but the separation felt like a betrayal.

"That's not what friends are for, you must have found that out by now," her mother reminded her.

"I wish we'd never found that poxy diadem!" Hermione moaned into her pillow.

"Whatever that is, you don't mean it, you know you don't."

"I should have told Mrs Lovegood I could only get the wretched thing in two years time and she should wait to finish her spell till then."

Mrs Granger knew this wasn't the time to ask her daughter what she was talking about. "Perhaps the girls will get homesick..."

"Not at Beauxbatons!" groaned Hermione, as if explaining the obvious to a small child. "It's an actual palace with real teachers and proper heating and... and nice bedrooms and... bouillabaisse and everything!"

"Well, there's plenty of time until September. Have a word with Harry... perhaps you might all go."

"WHAT! To stinky Beauxbatons!"

Mrs Granger smiled away a sigh. She hated to see her daughter unhappy, but when the girl occasionally lapsed into her childish nature like this, it was, for a time, like finding her baby girl again.

.

Uncle Remus

With Hermione's spirits being so low, New Year's day was a flat ending to the Christmas season. Farrimond arrived in the evening with an invitation from Harry for her to come over in the morning. She wasn't really in the mood but, not having seen Harry since Christmas Day, she could think of no excuse.

There was a surprise waiting when she entered the hall at Grimmauld Place: Lupin had stayed the whole week.

"Prof–! Ah... you _musth_ be _Harry'sth_ uncle!" cried Hermione, just managing to control her squeal of delight and convert to her nervous lisp. "He told me you were _visthiting._ " He looked significantly younger and fitter than she remembered him – perhaps the incarceration of Sirius in her former life had taken more out of Remus than she'd realised – but the monthly wear and tear of his condition was still evident in his eyes.

"And you must be Hermione. Harry never ever stops talking about you."

"Do not!" mumbled Harry.

"I know you don't," laughed Remus. "Never."

"I mean I do," Harry said sulkily.

"Ah, so you admit it?" grinned Sirius.

Hestia stepped in. "Now, now you two, stop twisting him around." She took Hermione's hand and led everyone into the front room where they were soon seated before the fire. "They were just as bad at school – them and James."

"Just as good, you mean," Sirius chuckled deeply in a kind of throaty growl.

Lupin was first to veer away from the teasing. "So, Hermione, you're a Muggle-born already in a wizard's world – how's that working out for you?"

"Wonderfully well, thank you, Mr Lupin," smiled Hermione.

"Oh, call me Remus – or Uncle Remus if you like."

Hermione couldn't imagine referring to her former teacher and hero of Hogwarts as 'Uncle' so she said, "Thank you. _Remusth isth_ , I mean, _Remusth..._ " She shook her head as if annoyed with herself. "I mean, _Remus_ – is a good name. Wizards have much more interesting names than Muggles."

"Hermione, your nervousness is really improving as you get older," nodded Hestia. "Well done."

"You mean it's getting worse," Sirius said slyly.

"Why, Dad?" said Harry.

Hestia said, "Your Dad's teasing again, Harry. He's joking that if something bad improves then the badness is more. And what I meant was that Hermione's control of her nervousness is improving."

Lupin cut in, "How'd you learn about us, Hermione? About magic, I mean?"

Sirius sat up a tiny bit straighter. It was a direct question he and Hestia had avoided asking out of politeness.

"Well, erm... a friend of my dad – sort of a distant friend," she added.

"An acquaintance." Lupin provided the word he thought she might not know. "So, he was a wizard? What was his name?"

"Uuh... Adam. It was when I was little. He told my dad he thought I might be a witch. Dad nearly went ballistic!"

"Sorry?"

"Uumm... flew into a rage, I mean. But Adam convinced him in the end and we visited Diagonal Alley and got books so I could learn."

"Adam... Adam... would that be Adam Bailey at Bailey's Broomsticks?"

"No, erm... this Adam's uuh... normally in... Transylvania as aah... a rogue vampire hunter, I think," she finished lamely.

Remus stiffened. "He hunts non-humans?"

Hermione realised where this was leading. "Oh, no, only those who've gone bad or – oh Goodness, I'm sorry! You're not a vampire are you? How awful of me!"

Remus laughed. "No, I'm not a vampire, I promise."

"I mean, it would be alright if you were, honestly," said Hermione quickly. Inspiration came at last. "No, it's only the wicked, rogue kind he tracks down. Uncle Adam _helps_ good vampires and giants and so on. I think he made a potion to help hags at new moon or something, otherwise they can't ever be trusted not to kill and eat children."

It was Lupin's turn to sit up straight, but at the mention of hags, Sirius and Hestia glanced fearfully at each other, but not so briefly that Hermione did not notice.

"You don't know any _hagsth_ , do you!" cried Hermione. "Oh, I'm _thsorry!_ I'm sure that's made up about them eating children – they only eat the livers!"

Hestia turned almost as pale as a vampire and clamped a hand over her mouth, clearly distressed. Sirius put an arm round her shoulder and led her to the window where he summoned Kreacher to make tea. His eyes pleaded with Lupin and flicked briefly towards Hermione.

Lupin quickly filled in. "Are you sure you don't mean _full_ moon?"

"Uuh... it might have been. I was only little and I remember thinking about the lovely big new moon he was telling Dad."

Remus was looking very serious now. "That's a full moon. A new moon is dark."

He studied Hermione's expression for a while. Hestia was looking out vacantly at the passers-by. Sirius was prowling thoughtfully, and also glancing at the square each time he passed. Hermione thought he heard him whispering softly to her. Harry was watching everyone in turn, particularly Hermione.

Lupin spoke again. "Would your dad still be in touch with this... Adam?"

"I could ask him for you! Do you have a nasty vampire you want hunting? Or a potion for?"

Lupin started to shake his head but stopped. "That's... sort of. I'd like to meet him."

"My dad? Oh, you mean Adam? I'll ask Dad when I get home."

Harry was clutching the arm of his mother's empty chair, swinging left and right, clearly restless. Sirius turned from the window and said, "Why don't you and Hermione go and play _Swashbucklers_ up in the drawing room?"

Harry's eyes lit up and Hermione let herself be led upstairs by her eager friend.

.

Salvaging Hope and Intrigue

"I'll be Cap'n Kidd on the frigate Bright Hope – you can be Blackbeard on the Intrigue if that's alright with you. The one who survives with the most treasure wins or you can also get marooned, keelhauled, or the filthy British can hang you by the giblets!"

Hermione laughed. "Honestly, Harry, have you been playing with your dad?"

"Yeah, he let me beat him six times, but I don't care."

The game his parents had bought him for Christmas was a huge board extending over the edges of the table. Little islands were dotted about a quite realistic blue sea. As they each took their turn, Hermione had to marvel at how the ships sailed under the direction of their player captain.

Once they were under way, Harry said gleefully, "Oh, bad luck – you miss a go already!"

"Why?"

He pointed above her head. "Albatross – see it fly over?"

"Oh, yes."

Though the sea was faintly divided into irregular squares, Hermione could tell it was more intricate and less abstract than wizard's chess, with various crews shouting or singing shanties continuously.

"Uh, oh... storm coming," cried Harry, and indeed, the sea was darkening into heaving waves. "Don't forget to furl your jib! We'll have to wait it out."

"Oh, right..." Hermione looked at Harry's excited eyes dashing about the playing area, taking in every detail. "Harry, did you tell Luna–?"

"–Watch out for the giant shark!" cried Harry. "Phew! That was close. I thought your cabin boy was a gonna for sure. You shouldn't really let him scrub barnacles off the hull in this weather, you know."

"I didn't realise... Harry, did you know about Luna and Ginny?"

Apart from the distant crashing of tiny waves and the faintly-howling wind, there was silence in the room for a few seconds. "I forgot..."

He quickly lost interest in the game's progress, and turned away, greatly saddened.

Hermione said, "Did you tell Luna anything about what we discussed at Hogwarts?"

"Only that Luna told me they were going to Beauxbatons, and did I mind, and I said yes but it was their choice – like you told me – but Luna said is that what you said, and when I said nothing, she knew – you know how clever she is."

"Oh, I see..."

Harry suddenly hurled himself at Hermione, but drew back from his intended hug in doubt and confusion. "You won't go as well, will you, Hermione! Not you as well?"

"No, no, I'm with you, no matter what – so long as you want me."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

But when they returned to the game, Hermione's Intrigue had foundered in the gale, and Hope had dashed itself against a rocky coastline.

They went instead to sit on the warm hearthrug before the fire together, Hermione lost in her thoughts. Why hadn't Harry hugged her? He'd always been so spontaneous in his affections. He'd be ten this year, perhaps he was starting to grow up.

There was a faint scratching sound from the nearest armchair and she watched Harry wiggle the short distance sideways along the floor to investigate without getting up – as boyish as ever.

"It's Luna's handwriting," said Harry. He had his enchanted diary open on the seat, watching the words slowly appear.

"What's she say?"

"Hang on... _Mummy asked me ... to ask you ... can you ask ... Hermione if ... she can ... come over this ... weekend ... to review ... progress ... with the ... new spell?_ What should I say?"

"Why didn't Luna just ask me herself if she's so smart she knows I'm here!" snapped Hermione. It wouldn't have been too difficult for Luna to guess, Hermione supposed, in a grouchy kind of way, as she so often visited her best friend on a Tuesday.

There was more scratching. Harry was now writing the reply. " _Why ... don't ... you ..."_

"Don't actually put what I just said!" shrilled Hermione, waving her arms about madly.

"Why not?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Because it might hurt her feelings, of course! Put instead... uumm..."

"But I thought you hated her for not coming to Hogwarts with us."

"I don't _'hate_ ' hate her! I was only... upset."

"Why not tell her that, then?" Harry glanced down when he heard more scratching from his diary. "Hang on... _Why ... don't ... I what?"_

"Make it..." She thought hard. "Why don't you...? Why don't you...? Uuh..."

Scratch, scratch, scratch... Harry wrote, before handing the diary to Hermione. He'd put: _Hermione is just begging to speak to you!_

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, indulging a daydream where this wasn't happening. Harry tickled her nose with the quill. She opened her eyes, took it, and with a sigh, began to write:

' _Oh, hi, Luna, this is Hermione. What a coincidence! I was just about to ask Harry if I could write to you when he heard you writing! How are you? Yes, I'd love to come over, especially if Ron, Ginny, and Harry come too so we can try the new spell together!_

Almost before she'd finished writing, more words formed below:

 _Yes! Yes! And yes! You'll love Mummy's new text book which is half done so far but she'll do more after. It's first-year History because that's the easiest to learn from a book, and everybody loves History._

Harry pulled a face and pretended to choke, so Hermione replied: _Great! Harry says that's wonderful, and can he have first go?_

Luna's reply was immediate. _No, because Ginny and I have already begun the chapter on magical history in Europe – but Harry can be third if you like._

They exchanged further pleasantries but Hermione was frowning by the time they'd closed the diary and Harry locked it up again. "Sounds like they're going ahead with the tuition without us," she murmured.

"But we can join them!" said Harry.

"Harry, I'm going to be so busy this year, I was already worried I wouldn't see enough of you all. I wish we could be with them more often before they go to France, so they might change their minds, otherwise..."

"Just you and me?" pouted Harry, despondently.

"We still have Ron," said Hermione, in an attempt to lift their spirits.

"And Neville – don't forget Nev."

"I haven't, but he's so distant from me now." Hermione shook her head as she gazed far off into the dancing flames.

"He feels a bit guilty, I can tell."

"Does he? That's a start, I suppose."

"But just as nervous of you," Harry added hastily. "You're a girl, you see."

Hermione absently stirred the coals with a distant finger and they sparked and crackled in protest.

"Well, he's going to have get used to girls sooner or later when he gets to Hogwarts."

"It was Daphne's fault. I hate her."

"You know her?"

"No, but I hate her."

"Did Neville tell you what...?"

"I promised not to tell. I hate her. In front of Astoria as well. Neville kind of liked her, you know, so it was a hundred times worse."

"Don't tell me she debagged him!"

Harry's startled expression told her she'd guessed quite closely. "Can't you obliterate him or make up a potion or something?"

"You mean, _Obliviate_ – no, oh, he'd forget alright but still be affected – Muggles call it suppressed memories..." She looked thoughtful for a few moments.

"What is it, Hermione?" said Harry. "You always look like that when you have a good idea."

"Well, Muggles use gradual acclimatisation to relieve phobias. Say you'd always lived in a tiny cupboard and were scared of big open spaces then you'd first get used to staying in a bit bigger cupboard, then a large one, and so on for months until you could go in a small room without much concern. Eventually you could manage a big room."

"Then a big hall!" cried Harry. "That's it! We need a little tiny girl to start with that Neville can get used to, then next month a bit bigger one! I expect anybody could stand even older girls if they got used to them bit by bit like that."

Hermione laughed. "That wasn't quite what I had in mind, but yes, that's the general idea. Let me know when he's next visiting you and I'll make a quick trip to see Hestia, keep my distance down the hall, wave hello, then go. We need to organise a few brief, casual meetings like that, let him get used to seeing me around again gradually and learn I don't bite."

"And no bossing him about."

"Bossy? Me?" giggled Hermione. "I'll show you bossy!" She rolled up her sleeves and strode back to the board game. "Right you lot! All hands on deck! Let's teach these upstart buccaneers how to sail a real ship!"

Harry squealed and jumped onto his seat at the table. "Hoist the mains'l Mr Mate! Get the men ready for the challenge!"

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Before you ask, Luna and Ginny will NOT disappear from this fic but will remain MAJOR players! I've not despatched them on a whim – it's part of the plot. They may be less prominent for a while though, in a similar way to how Neville has been. Ebb and flow, according to how the story develops._

 _Slow output this week so maybe I'm slipping to posting every 10 days. I know I can produce a chapter a week but that's an average and I'm not far enough ahead to absorb the troughs with the crests. The last couple of chapters were big and could not be split so that's a major factor too._

 _Questions and comments! Jhotenko said it was likely that Hermione would have known the first 'truth-lie' riddle from the movie Labyrinth. True enough but she'd not seen it for 130 years (she's definitely not bothered with movies this time around) and that was one scene she didn't recall or connect with the sphinx version. I'd forgotten it myself until I researched for riddles when preparing the last chapter. Anyway, for some quirky reason I thought it would be nice if each of the girls got to answer one riddle each – to kind of reinforce the need for them all to be there. Luna got the first – and the second one as well, but Ginny said it before she did, and probably that even prompted Luna to consider Irwin more quickly. And it took Hermione's experience and character to deal with the third._

 _midnightscar17 wondered when Harry and Hermione will get together. Yes, I have labelled this fic with a 'romance' tag because the entire plot is driven by Hermione's love for Harry. She didn't try to change the Fates' tapestry to save the world, she did it to save Harry. Plus, it's a huge story of maybe a million words from age zero to 18. Romantic affection won't even begin to be overtly expressed until they're both older, maybe third, fourth, fifth year? Perhaps they'll hold hands in year two if you (and Harry!) get lucky? I've an outline plan of the main story plot but I've not considered when romance will begin. There was a tiny hint in this current chapter where Harry stops himself hugging Hermione. Why? Previously he was too innocent to reflect on the act, but perhaps now he's beginning to respect Hermione as a girl? Personally, I just love their devotion to each other as it is. I don't think there'll be much angst but they'll simply grow closer._ :)

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	29. 0:Hits For A Miss

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort died early, she has formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and ultimately seek cooperation between Muggles and Magical societies. Hermione has now met Remus but was upset to hear Luna and Ginny will be going to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 29**

 **Hits For A Miss**

* * *

.

The Tutomees

An icy rain was falling on the hill below the Lovegood home as Hermione dashed up from the Knight Bus to behold a curious chase taking place in the downpour. A huge watering can was flying through the garden shrubbery, occasionally pausing for a few seconds to spray its contents onto the nearest plant. The tiny figure of Luna, hair sopping and sticking down her back, could be seen running after the can, calling it back. Ginny was trying to head it off without success.

"You're very naughty to be out in the rain!" shouted Luna – rather bravely, thought Hermione, for the mischievous metal can was almost big enough to swallow the little girl whole and swerving heavily with its burden of rainwater.

It settled down amongst the hydrangeas once Hermione Confunded it, and the two girls looked round in surprise. "Hermione!"

They came running to greet her, clothes clinging wetly.

"One of your Mum's spells?" asked Hermione, wryly.

Luna nodded unashamedly, even eagerly. "Isn't it good! But she had to leave it half-finished while she works on her main spell. Come on!"

They heaved over the watering can to empty it, then Luna and Ginny carried it between them. It was just a little too big to lower into the rainwater barrel that stood beside the house so they stood it against the wall to drink from a roof trickle. Luna tied a length of rope to its handle so it couldn't stray far, then off they dashed to get out of the rain.

Mrs Lovegood shook her head and drew her wand when the three girls entered the house, but they were soon drying from her cosy warming charm, and after a few moments, their hair fluffed up like startled Pygmy Puffs: one red, one blonde, one brown. Harry and Ron were at the kitchen table, laughing at the sight.

Once the water was out of her ears, Hermione could hear a heavy rattling sound from above.

"Back to your places, girls, and carry on. I need to have a word with Xeno..."

She ran halfway up the spiral stair until her uptilted face was out of sight. The children could hear quite a few choice words exchanged. Clearly, the next Quibbler was being printed.

There was only a small reduction in the noise and Mrs Lovegood began to descend with a frown. "He's only wedged it with his socks."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. "Why?" said Harry.

"Because he's lost his woolly hat again."

"I have NOT lost my hat!" Xeno called down the stair. "It flew away."

Pandora rolled her eyes and reached back to close the big round trapdoor.

"BETTER OFF WITHOUT ME?" came her husband's muffled shout.

"Thanks, yes, that's PERFECT!" his wife shouted back up at him. But the moment she was downstairs she cast a moderate muffling spell up at the ceiling for good measure. She glanced around at the youngsters and muttered to herself, " _How were children supposed to learn with that racket...?"_

Luna didn't seem to notice. She was still the same dreamy girl, but as she chatted animatedly with Ginny, Ron, and Harry around the Lovegoods' kitchen table, Hermione could see changes in the girl from her previous life. _I don't think she had any close friends at all. Yes, she'd enjoyed associating with some of us in Dumbledore's Army, but that only made her realise what she'd missed._

Hermione realised she herself had been guilty of keeping Luna at a distance in that former lifetime at Hogwarts. There'd been no 'best friend' for the quirky girl even when cruel fate took her life so violently three years later. _Oh, Luna...!_ sighed Hermione. _I was selfishly preoccupied with my feelings for Ron ... Neville was soon only with Hannah ... Ginny married Harry. You were left with no one but our... noble – no, dutiful – visits where we were politely good-natured but never really embraced – no, LOVED – you for what you were! It took me a long lifetime of missing you to appreciate the quality of your character. Do I, even now?_

 _YES!_ How wonderful in the present to see Luna so happy! Harry was fond of the girl too, and Hermione smiled as Ron laughed _with_ her instead of _at_ her. _What is wrong with me! Can't I just let go of her to enjoy life how she wants without having any obligation to my grandiose plans of friend-saving!_

 _Let her and Ginny sail away unconcerned, with owls, diaries, and mirrors the only link back to us. I've succeeded in releasing her from... dependence on friends, yes, so now fly free Luna! Live your life more fully!_

Here she was, cheerfully trying out a few phrases in French. " _Bonjour, Mademoiselle Weasley, comment allez-vous?"_

"Uuh... I'm _tress been_ , thanks," replied Ginny, half cribbing from an enchanted book with one eye.

Both girls squealed with laughter; Ron and Harry joined in the gaiety, though neither of them understood a word.

Mrs Lovegood smiled at Hermione and shook her head. "I've given them a primer," she murmured to Hermione. "The book will correct her – so long as she's willing to pay it attention."

Hermione nodded as she listened to the book patiently speak the correct pronunciation, then she turned again to Luna's mother. "Show me what you've prepared so far for your History help."

While the old printer continued to faintly rumble overhead, Pandora opened another book to its first page then slid it across the table to her. "This approximates the first term at Hogwarts so it's British-biased. I'm preparing a different one for Luna and Ginny."

It was no surprise to Hermione that the pages were blank except for a few paragraphs. "So, I...?"

"Read and follow the instructions, then the book will adjust itself to you," explained Pandora.

" _By the end of the seventeenth century, witches and wizards were increasingly persecuted by the Muggle population. The Statute of Secrecy was signed in 1689 and enforced by the Ministry of Magic from 1692 so that..."_ Hermione continued reading until she reached an instruction: " _Please give reasons why the Statute of Secrecy was established and when."_

Hermione took up her quill and wrote her answer. More paragraphs formed below it with more directions. "This is wonderful. What if I got it wrong? What if I forgot it later? What is the teacher's role?"

"The magic is no more than an enchanted textbook; I call them Tutomees. The teacher monitors, guides, and can even add to and modify the Tutomee. If the pupil writes an answer less than ideal then the book will patiently reveal where the student has gone wrong and the student has to relearn it. Revision is not crammed in solely before tests and exams – refreshing takes place continuously during learning. If a child needs to revise everything later then they've not really learnt, have they?"

"What about creating Potions?"

"The Tutomee will give detailed instructions to be followed by the student who writes what they are doing step by step. If an error is detected then the book will say so. I'm considering drawing an illustration of a teaching assistant to watch over critical stages, but the real teacher will be much more important with such practical lessons."

Hermione sighed. "It will be an uphill struggle to get Hogwarts to accept this modern approach; the establishment is quite conservative. I've spent some time with Professor Gossard – she's one of the more enlightened members of the Board of Governors, one of the few who've actually taught students. There is a rigid rule that each teacher may define their own methods within certain parameters, and most of them are set in their ways. Imagine Professor Binns having an argument with a black and white illustration of a teaching assistant!"

They both laughed and the others looked up from their practice. Ron said, "Fred and George finish their Christmas break day after tomorrow, I bet they could smuggle in a couple of copies to try out. Binns doesn't even need to know."

"That's a great idea, Ron!" cried Hermione. "The twins could report back what works well and what doesn't in a real class situation."

Ron beamed. Then his head tilted on one side, listening. Silence. Upstairs, the printing press had finally stopped, and the trapdoor opened.

"Anyone expecting an owl?" Mr Lovegood called down, his voice somewhat muffled by the charm.

He must have opened a window because a dark tawny came flapping down and, after swooping once around the kitchen, settled on the table before Hermione. While Harry gave the bird a piece of bacon rind to fortify itself, she took its message and read it to herself.

"It's from Remus confirming he can meet Adam tomorrow morning early. I spoke to Dad and it's been arranged. I think Remus wants a potion for a friend."

Harry gave her such a funny look that Hermione realised at once he must have been told his uncle was a werewolf, but simply never discussed it with her. Likely he'd been told to keep it quiet. But he'd have assumed she'd know – he thought she knew everything. She gave him a little nod but whether he understood or not Hermione could not tell.

.

The Contract

At the hour of seven the next morning, Adam Brown shrugged off the cold night air and entered the Leaky Cauldron, steamy and smoke-filled with the dregs and remnants of the previous evening's regulars. He saw Remus immediately at a corner table but let his eyes sweep over him without recognition. Only when he could see no others matching his description did he make eye contact. The question in Lupin's eye drew Brown forward.

Remus rose as Adam approached. "Are you Adam Brown?"

Adam nodded. They shook hands and sat down. Remus drained the last drops of his Firewhisky and signalled to the barkeeper who came right over.

"Same again, Tom."

"I'll have a hot Butterbeer," said Adam.

Remus raised an eyebrow but said nothing; not many adults drank the soft beverage. They waited until Tom came back with the refreshments and had left them alone.

Adam said. "Hermione's message was rather confused. Seems to think you needed a potion for a vampire but I assume he's a werewolf?" He reached into a pocket of his robe.

"Not a potion, no..." began Remus, then broke off as Adam took out a third-pint flask. "You've brought Wolfsbane? You made that yourself? I already have... heard he has a supply."

"Not as potent as this brew," said Adam, holding up the bottle so its smoky blue contents glinted in the light from the nearest lantern. "Tell him to give it a try. He'll still feel rather low in spirits once a month but at least he won't transform."

"Impossible! The current supplier is a Potions Master – none better. He assures m– my friend that the most that can be done is to keep human control."

"I've specialised in exotic potions for years, and I tell you the correct dosage of my recipe prevents the transformation process completely." He placed the bottle before Remus and waited.

"How much?"

"Consider this a trial offer. If acceptable, whatever you're paying now plus I'll knock off ten percent."

The werewolf took the flask and slipped it inside his robes, still looking dubious.

"Make sure you read the label carefully. That bottle contains over ten doses."

"What!"

"I told you it was extremely potent. Only a tablespoonful is needed. Any more would be unpleasant and make things worse. Any less and you'll transform with varying degrees of control, much like your current inferior brew."

Remus frowned. "My friend's brew, you mean."

Adam smiled. "I'm guessing you're the one who needs it, Lupin – from your mannerisms for one thing, and the wear and tear shown in your face too, not to mention the hungry way you looked at that potion."

"You've known werewolves then? Hermione said you were a tracker."

"Not entirely, but yes." Adam hesitated. "I see I've misunderstood – you're not here for the potion at all, are you?"

Remus shook his head then took a gulp of his Firewhisky before answering. "I want you to hunt someone down and kill them."

Adam blinked. "Just like that?" He took a deep swig of Butterbeer, belched loudly, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to look as manly as possible. "Who is it?" He knew the answer even before Remus answered.

"Fenrir Greyback."

Adam shook his head. "He's been on the run from the Ministry since the last war. No one knows where he is."

" _I_ do," Lupin said softly. "For years I've watched and waited and listened for any clue. A few months ago, I learned that he and many of his fellows dwell in a heavily fortified compound concealed by Muggle repellents in the thickest area of the forest of Kielder. This filthy tribe strengthen their numbers by biting and contaminating young children then raising them to hate wizards."

Adam looked thoughtful, trying to recollect what he'd learned so long ago. "That forest is a large area to search, nearly two-hundred square miles of woodland, mostly conifers so even in winter some locations are quite dense and–"

"You know it?" Remus's eyes widened a little.

"Oh, only from what I've read in books."

Remus laughed a little too loudly and an old crone pulling on a long clay pipe two tables away scowled and coughed out a lungful of grey smoke. Lupin turned back to Adam. "Sorry, but you sounded just like Hermione Granger when you said that!"

Startled, Adam hesitated then tried to deepen his voice. "Edward's daughter? Do I? Strange girl. It was obvious she was magical, but I soon saw she was just a Niffler of useless information. She'll never amount to much other than a plume-pusher or a library assistant."

Lupin frowned and looked away. "Perhaps you're right – I don't know her that well yet, but she did strike me as quite smart for her age."

They sipped their drinks for a while until Remus continued, "I've scouted through Kielder many times without success. I'm sure Greyback will have scouts out among the trees but, like myself, they must have been using No-smell because I never caught so much as a whiff."

"Could you Apparate me there?" said Adam, draining his glass. "It wouldn't hurt to take a quick look around."

"Now?" cried Remus in a kind of stifled croak. "It won't be daybreak yet that far north, and we need to discuss, plan a strategy–"

"I only want to see the lie of the land for a few minutes, get to know the area so I can Apparate there myself if necessary and, who knows, maybe the trip will give me a few ideas before we start planning."

"So you'll take the job?" said Remus hopefully.

"Perhaps," said Adam.

.

The Land of Fairytales

Night, still clinging to the northern forest, was relieved only by a bland grey radiance in the east where silent tree-shapes peeped darkly through the mist. Frost creaked and cracked underfoot as it took the sudden weight of the two wizards who appeared out of nowhere. Remus found the nearest pine trunk and leaned against it, panting steam into the chilly air.

"Alright?" asked Adam.

Lupin had only needed a few seconds to recover from the trip. "Fine." He straightened up. The big man he'd hefted along had fatigued his magic more than expected. He watched him now, already taking bearings, orienting himself.

"What trail is this?" Adam asked, gesturing at the rough track that swept before them in the gloom.

"One of many that circle around for backpackers and suchlike; this is a popular tourist site. We won't be using it but, see that stone tower?" He pointed. "Sight yourself on it as the nearest feature west of the trail; it's as good a start point as any, I've found."

Adam did so, then turned in the opposite direction. "And you've already investigated all the least popular areas east of here?"

"All of the most likely–" Remus stopped himself, and Adam saw the faint eastern glow light up his eyes as he resumed, "Or rather, the ones I was made to think most likely! By Merlin! Why didn't I see that before."

"Enchantments?"

"Yes, probably Notice-me-not charms." He fumbled in his robes for a piece of parchment, found a copy of yesterday's Daily Prophet, and began scratching away with a tiny quill on a small blank area below the Stop Press on the back page.

"Here's the trail ... that's a long brook heading up there ... low hills ..." He paused then began line-shading. "This is where I've focused before..."

Adam finished for him. "Which leaves this huge stretch to the north unchecked?"

Remus nodded. "Even now I feel a reluctance to bother with it."

"Any trails through there?"

"Nothing of consequence."

"The enchantment is still affecting you. What is there of no consequence?"

Remus stared in realisation at the big man. "You're right. There are what I thought were deer tracks pushing diagonally from here..." He marked it on the newspaper. It probably used to stretch right to the village on the other side. I guess these days the Muggles all have cars and have never noticed anything unusual about their new unwillingness to walk miles through the Forest."

"Poor old Granny," murmured Adam.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just an old fairytale about a big bad wolf."

They stood for a while gazing north into the blackness, as if waiting for the sun to rise and uncover the mystery – but there'd be no time for that.

Adam glanced at his watch. "I've things to do over the next few weeks. Let's think about it some more and we'll meet up to discuss the best way to dispose of him, once and for all."

.

Hit List

During the remainder of the week, Hermione busied herself fitting out the Muggle laboratory that Mike Worthing Enterprises had acquired. When working with the staff – whether Muggle or Magical – she always appeared as Adam Brown, for these were professionals and would never have taken serious instruction from a child. As it was, they had trouble following her methodology which was not only years in advance of their own approach, but much of it was individual to herself, particularly the magical support.

"Yes, it's still Muggle science," she would explain, "but the indexing charm almost eliminates some of the lengthy sorting processes. Don't waste time doing it manually."

"And what exactly are we looking for?"

"The closest matches to the tables that I'm compiling. There is just this one table so far, but I'll provide the others by March."

At least the research proper could begin, with Adam supervising the initial stages, gathering tissue samples and data before tests could begin. It was tiring work and during this period, Hermione saw less of Luna and Ginny which hindered Hermione's efforts at bonding. In addition, Harry was visiting the Weasleys much more often in an attempt to see as much of them as he could before they departed for France. Hermione prayed that would be enough to maintain the link. She couldn't lose them completely, she just couldn't!

Coaxed by Bartemius and Jop, Madam Bones had found a better admin post for Paul Ingleton, reorganising the archive records in Magical Law Enforcement. It was a modest occupation but a step in the right direction should other Ministry opportunities arise, and he was grateful to them all.

Through the previous year, Jop had also strengthened his contacts with the dissatisfied portion of the higher echelons of Ministerial management and the Wizengamot, but the remainder were the entrenched extremists and blood-supremacists – he could do nothing about those until Hermione delivered on her promise to have them winkled out.

For her part, Hermione first needed information against the corrupt officials and Council members, and was now too busy to carry out random investigations herself.

"We are still laying the groundwork," said Vera at the end-of-February's meeting of the League, "but the time will come when we can do no more by legal means. As we've known from the start, we cannot increase the representation of our views on the Wizengamot and in the Ministry generally, until some of the most corrupt influences are removed."

"Jop, you said you'd begun compiling a list?" said Rosemary.

"Barty's working on it now."

Mr Crouch nodded, dug out a sheaf of papers from his briefcase, and began to read:

"Albert Runcorn has been progressing his Ministry career for some years using shady methods such as bribery and low-level hints of exposing misdemeanour. Some of the promotions he has received do not make practical sense but he's a bad influence we'd rather not have advancing in power. Do you have any information against him, Rosemary?"

She shook her head. "In my time he became a dreadful persecutor of Muggle-borns. Later information revealed he had occasionally supplied information to Death Eaters, and at least two Ministry personnel subsequently died from mysterious accidents. But I don't remember the period – it may well have been in the mid-nineties. I'd love to interrogate him under Veritaserum but we can't be certain of uncovering any major crimes yet. I propose we continue to keep watch on his activities and consider him later."

"Very well." Mr Crouch wrote swiftly on the entry, then continued, "Pius Thicknesse is a pure-blood sympathiser who has opposed us in the past on different issues. A difficult man to deal with."

"Although a believer in pure-blood superiority, Thicknesse is essentially opposed to suppression and dark magic. He refused to respond to entreaties from Malfoy and Yaxley then struggled hard to resist a powerful Imperius curse cast by Yaxley but was eventually overwhelmed and used by them. If you can find a way, then I recommend that he not be antagonised but shown respect in order to–"

"Respect! I can never agree with his views!" cried Jop.

"You don't need to agree with everything he believes but if your people form a casually-accepted acquaintance with the man then you may influence him for the better. In time, cautions could be fed to him that dark supporters might sway, blackmail, or force him in some way to help their causes. Put him on his guard."

Mr Crouch nodded and scribbled some more. "Walden Macnair is high on the Committee for Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, but we suspect non-humans are not all he dispatches."

"You'd be right," said Rosemary, "He's a violent, bloody sociopath and I have no doubt he has already committed murder – he used to be married, you know."

"No, he's never been married," frowned Crouch, looking at his notes.

"You mean, there is no record of it. He confessed to me that when he was a young man, he battered his wife to death with a large cauldron then boiled her bones in it."

Vera stood up and went to the window which she flung open and took large gulps of cold air.

Rosemary paused for a minute until the Muggle woman began to recover, then continued, "However, we cannot have a stream of Ministry officials disappearing too closely together. Mr Crouch, you are an adept with the Imperious Curse yourself, I propose you form a plan for him to quietly resign and _apparently_ leave the country on some pretext."

"And...?"

"We need a real place for him and other accused to go so we can take them away for questioning unobserved. Somewhere difficult for anyone to follow or detect any pattern."

Crouch nodded. "I'd say, let him declare some false one-way journey then, instead, Apparate to a landmark he'd know but where he'd be unlikely to be recognised. Then, we need a safe house near enough from there for him to walk to. I shall give it some thought. To the rest of the world he will simply have moved away."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" said Vera. "What if we find him not guilty?"

"Then we release him, of course," said Rosemary. "I'll never incarcerate anyone without proof."

"But our ruse will then be uncovered!" cried Mr Crouch.

"Curse him without being observed and keep out of his line of sight during the interrogation both of you. There is no risk to either of you if you take care."

"And you? You'll take Adam's form?"

"No, I'll be myself. As I am. Rosemary Brown."

"But he'll find out who you are!"

" _You_ two may not know, but _I_ know for certain that he is guilty and he'll not walk free again, so there's no risk."

"And suppose, just suppose, we find him or others guilty of a lesser crime?"

"The minimum sentence will be a few months, loss of magic and complete Obliviation of anything to do with it, then placement into some far-off Muggle society – a fitting punishment for those who despise Muggles will be for them to become one, don't you think? Such people do not deserve the privilege of being magically endowed." She turned to Mike Worthing who had remained silent through this discussion. "You're not saying much, Mike. What do _you_ think?"

"I've said before, I want no part of this rough justice vigilantism."

"It's less rough than current Ministry justice and the stakes are very high. Have you forgotten the consequences of doing nothing that you saw in the Pensieve? The world – including Kent – in ruins?"

Mike looked uncomfortable but had no answer.

Crouch pressed on. "Rosemary, you mentioned Yaxley – he's already on my list. He holds a high position in Law Enforcement and wields a lot of influence there. Madam Bones currently keeps him in check but if anything happened to her..."

"He committed crimes in the first war but claimed to be forced by Voldemort's Imperious curse, yet he willingly continued the fight in the second war in my lifetime. He must be removed but he might not be easy to subdue with an Imperious Curse. Find another way for him to resign without arousing suspicion – perhaps a long illness?"

"I'd rather we deal with someone like Lucius Malfoy first," said Jop. "He has far more influence and power at the Ministry."

Crouch said, "We can't yet. He is too prominent a figure to simply fade from public view without speculation and probably even investigation. Once there is even a slight suspicion that dark supporters are being covertly removed then our work becomes far harder and perhaps impossible."

"What about Nott and Rosier?" said Rosemary.

"Old Rosier? In the Wizengamot Admin? Surely not? New recruits are heavily vetted by him, and he's been working there for years."

"He's an ex-Death Eater and should be investigated – particularly since his sister Druella married a Black and is the mother of Bellatrix."

Crouch grimaced. "Not all Blacks are Arcanists – but I'll look into it."

"Same with Nott. While at Hogwarts, he was a grovelling, sycophantic schoolfriend of Voldemort – Tom Riddle as he was then known – and one of his earliest followers."

"I've heard the name of Nott but cannot place him..."

"He's a grunt in Obliviator Headquarters. He's particularly skilled at wiping memories so the department use his like to wipe the memories of Muggles when secrecy is breached. Be very careful when dealing with him."

Crouch nodded.

"Now, what about the Wizengamot itself?"

While Crouch retrieved another list from his bag, Jop said, "So many are pure-blood obsessives but respectable on the outside. They will be the main obstacle to our securing positions on the Council."

Hermione took the list off Crouch and made a copy. "I'll look into it myself when I can."

"You're driving yourself too hard!" said Vera. "You may have the memories and magic of an adult, Rosemary, but your mind and body are still those of a little girl."

"I'll pace myself. We have enough to be going on with."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _In the last chapter's reviews, HPHGfanforever raised a good point about Ron's flaws, and Harry and Hermione too. Yes, definitely! Both Ron and Harry shirked their schoolwork. So did I and probably most of the kids in my class. And yes, Harry and Hermione disliked each other at the start of Philosopher's (Sorcerer's) Stone - it wasn't just Ron. Conflict is fairly normal for us humans, sadly, and stories aren't believable without it. Interestingly, I'm in the middle of reading another story this week and it's the first time I felt sorry for Ron – in fact, I choked up a bit. But that's later in the story – you won't much like him at the start. If interested, read Hearts Over Dracontias by Isis and Neit. It's a Charlie/Luna post-Hogwarts story and is very well written._

 _Jhotenko raised a question about Wolfsbane. I've assumed it existed at this time, and also implied for my story that Snape was making it for Remus earlier because Sirius being free meant Remus was more in touch with society. The reason I did this was because I wanted to underline that Hermione has been practising potions far longer than Snape and knows things that have not yet even been discovered in this timeline._

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	30. 0:Tracking and Trapping

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys at a much younger age and even though Voldemort died early, she has formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and ultimately seek cooperation between Muggles and Magical societies. Hermione has now met Remus but was upset to hear Luna and Ginny will be going to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 30**

 **Tracking and Trapping**

* * *

.

Confusing Words

Determined to be as friendly as possible to Luna and Ginny before they departed England – perhaps forever – Hermione was soon visiting again to help Pandora with the finalising of the Tutomees. The weather had remained cool but at least it was dry. The young watering can, however, she noted, remained sulking by the water butt, obviously impatient for action.

"Rose has been chafing the string with her sprinkler," sighed Luna, pointing at the frayed cord. "I hope Mummy finishes her books soon so she can fix the enchantments and Rose can go free again."

"You've given your watering can a name?" laughed Hermione. "And what makes you think it's a girl!"

Luna paused and looked back in astonishment as she was leading Hermione indoors. "Oh, Hermione! Can't you see the difference? Look at her neck. And boys aren't so... round. She's pretty, don't you think?"

"But a watering can is masculine in the French language!"

Luna shook her head. "They must have made a mistake. All they think about is the long spout. Watering cans are obviously all girls, you can tell – look how she's pouting so sweetly and – _tu parle français!"_

" _Mais certainment!"_

Luna squee'd her delight as they entered the Lovegood kitchen.

Ginny and the others weren't there but Luna's mother looked up from her seat at the table. "Now Luna, English here please, I like to know what you're up to." She winked at Hermione.

"You don't know French yourself, Mrs Lovegood?" said Hermione. "But how did you make the Tutomee?"

An eyebrow tilted askance. "Why, that's just an enchantment, Hermione! You don't need to know about blood and skin to heal a scratch, do you?"

Luna giggled and explained. "We used some of the magic from a portrait of Madame Maxime that Mummy painted for her. Didn't you _wond–wond–wonder about_ the Tutomee's voice?"

"What did you say, Luna?" said Pandora, a puzzled frown had appeared on her face. "Are you playing with words again? Please don't."

"No, I meant to say, _wond–wond–_. Sorry, Mummy, I was being silly. I meant to say, _wond–wond–_." Now it was Luna's turn to look puzzled.

Hermione could not stop the suspicion arising that the painting commissioned by Madame Maxime had helped pay the fees to Beauxbatons. Like the Weasleys, the Lovegoods were not a wealthy family. "We? _You_ helped with the Tutomees, Luna?"

"No, only some of the little drawings. Mummy's been showing me how to animate them properly."

"Oh, I see."

"Which reminds me," said Mrs Lovegood as she rose from the table. I'm supposed to be finishing off my drawing of a Thestral for next week's Quibbler." She ascended the spiral stair and Hermione could faintly hear her in conversation with Mr Lovegood.

At this first opportunity, Hermione took Luna aside, but before she could speak, Luna said rather wistfully, "I wish I could see it."

It took a few moments before Hermione realised she was speaking about the Thestral picture. "Believe me, Luna, you don't."

Luna sighed. "I suppose you're right. Are they really beautiful?"

Hermione nodded. "We flew from Hogwarts to London, you and I – Harry and Ginny too and – oh, I was terrified all the way. Exhilarated, but terrified. I couldn't see them yet you understand, so it was like flying through the air on my own. But I could feel it beneath me so I closed my eyes most of the time, and hung on tight."

"But you did see them eventually?"

Hermione nodded and her face went dark.

"Hermione... how did _I_ die?"

Hermione stiffened as the memory came back to her, and she said quite sternly, "Luna, don't you EVER ask me that again. Especially if other people are around."

Luna's lip quivered at her friend's rebuke, but Hermione hugged her tight as if she never wanted to let her go.

"I won't, I promise," said Luna eventually. "And I don't think I can if others are around."

Hermione pulled back to look at Luna's expression. "What do you mean?"

"Didn't you notice?" she whispered. "I almost said 'didn't you _recognise_ Madame Maxime's voice while Mummy was here? Your spell stopped me from speaking about your other life and made me say something different. That's happened a few times. I didn't know it worked like that so I always tried to fight it. I won't ever again. We should warn the others."

Hermione nodded.

"Now, what did you want to speak to me about?" smiled Luna.

"Hmm...? Me?"

"Yes, when Mummy went upstairs, I thought you were going to ask me something."

"Oh, yes, those little illustrations, do you think you could draw some special ones for me? Only it's secret, top secret."

Luna grinned. "I like secrets."

.

Difficult to Swallow

"By all that is Godric, NO!" Remus stared at the faint wisps that lay on the palm of Adam's hand. "Frankly, you disgust me, Brown. I will not do it."

"It won't be an actual child though will it? Do you want to break up Greyback's wolf pack and save _real_ children from future contamination or not?"

Lupin's face was pale even in the ruddy glow of the Leaky Cauldron's lanterns. "But those..." He seemed transfixed by the strands that Adam was holding out – "they're from Hermione's hairbrush?"

Adam nodded. "See how thick each hair is, and sort of waffled – that's why her hair is so bushy. Poor thing – I bet she has to brush it endlessly."

"What would I know about girls' hair!" growled Lupin.

"Not much luck with the ladies, eh, Remus?" grinned Adam.

"My... condition... is not exactly ideal for raising a family!"

"Don't say that!" said Adam, half-rising out of his chair in annoyance. He sat down again and softened his tone. "Listen, Remus. I have extensive knowledge of people with your particular problem and I also understand the female way of thinking way beyond what you might imagine. Somewhere out there, a young lady is waiting for a man exactly like you."

"Well she can carry on waiting for someone better. It wouldn't be right to saddle anyone else with my troubles."

"Now you listen very carefully to me, Remus. You – are – wrong! If the situation were reversed and you were a normal man in love with a female werewolf, you'd want her to understand you'd be desolate without her, right?"

Remus nodded reluctantly.

"We have no right to make such decisions for others. You're a good man, Remus. I know another like you who resisted the love of a woman and broke her heart for too long before eventually accepting her. Would you want to do that? Especially now you can prevent your transformation completely?"

"You think you know it all, don't you?" The expression on Remus's face darkened. "And what of any children born of such a matrimony?"

Adam smiled. "They eventually married. Their child was a beautiful baby boy. They called him Teddy..."

A far off, wistful look shone in the eyes of the big man, and for a while, Remus's face softened too. "Nice name."

"Look," continued Adam. "Just promise me this. When you meet the girl of your dreams, you won't rebuff her simply because of mere practical difficulties like your monthly periods – women know all about such things – or even trivia like age, height, skin colour. If you're both truly in love then love transcends all. She's there for you, Remus, I know she is. Promise me you'll do the right thing."

Remus's eyes shone and he nodded. "I'll give it a lot more thought."

"And don't you hurt her! Don't you dare!" growled Adam.

Remus smiled, and the two sat quietly for another minute, both in deep thought. Finally, they remembered why they were there, and the plan to use Hermione as bait. Adam lifted up the hair strands again to force a decision.

"There must be a better way!" Remus looked around to see if anyone might overhear them, but it was early evening and apart from a couple at the bar, the pub had not yet started to fill.

"Like what? Storm the werewolf compound? Impossible! We have to lure him into the open, and you did say the beast captures magical youngsters to raise as werewolves!"

The expression on Lupin's face was grim. "Count me out. Greyback is savage and brutal. I couldn't bear to watch if it went wrong. Hermione is such a sweet, pretty kid and Greyback won't spare any pity."

Adam's lips softened into an affectionate smile. "Oh, Remus..." For a moment, the big man's expression looked quite girlish, but Lupin didn't seem to notice; his mind was caught up in the remembered terror of his own childhood experience. Adam almost reached out to pat his hand...

The weakness passed and he slipped the hairs back into the packet in which he'd brought them, then held up the bottle of Polyjuice he'd brought along. "It won't _be_ the real Hermione though, will it?"

Remus did not answer.

"Very well. I'll go alone if you're so squeamish." Adam rose as if to leave, studying his watch carefully as he did so.

"Now see here, I'm no coward!"

"Then come with me. I need you to watch out for any others. Greyback is unlikely to be alone."

"It's not full moon till the end of the week. There'll be wizard lookouts tonight but they'll not hunt as an instinctive pack. It's not them I'm concerned about. You have to understand that even in his human form, Greyback has a taste for little girls, and when he bites he often relinquishes control of his... other urges. He's been known to violate and devour in the same act. It's no secret that most of his recruits only survive because they are boys."

"And that's where _your_ control comes in." Adam held up a small, grey-blue capsule.

"What's that?"

Seeing Lupin's interest, Adam sat down again. "It contains a special variant of my Wolfsbane potion with a secret ingredient and enchantment. I have access to a Muggle research laboratory where I can produce capsules quite easily. This version will force you to transform – but your human mind will still be in control – well, mostly anyway. This pill simply makes it more convenient in an emergency – though it may take some swallowing."

Eyes and mouth open in astonishment, Remus croaked, "Without a full moon?"

Adam nodded. "When Greyback closes in, I'll run shrieking from him as if in panic. Although untransformed, he won't be able to resist chasing me because he always indulges his predatory reflexes. While he does, I want you to swallow this, then attack him from behind. If needed, I'll help you take him down covertly so the others see only your success. A rather fitting end to the monster, I thought – the biter bit literally."

Remus gasped. "The law of the pack! Even as humans they'll be compelled to accept me as leader."

Adam nodded. "After that, spend some time with them. Get them to accept you – by dominance and your greater experience if necessary. Evaluate who might yet be saved. Entice those few with offers of free monthly Wolfsbane pellets – not like this one but the standard potion, I mean – plus moral and possibly financial support if they can't find work."

"Normal dose?"

"Of course. Their reliance on the supply will also help keep them from straying back to their old ways. If we can get them to live relatively normal lives like yourself and relieve the monthly suffering too, then they won't need to behave like beasts."

"And the rest? The ones who willingly enjoy the life of a werewolf?"

"Do as you like. My guess is the pack will fall apart and be greatly weakened without a strong leader once you split them up and destroy the compound from within, then abandon them."

Adam handed Remus a small mokeskin pouch full of the capsules, looked at his watch once more, then ordered fresh drinks while Remus thought it over. "You have to realise that Greyback is the one in serious danger, not me, and certainly not Hermione Granger."

.

Little Red Riding Hood

With a final check of his watch, Adam led the way out the backdoor of the Leaky Cauldron, as if they were going to Diagon Alley. Instead, they Disapparated from the yard to the start of the track that Remus had previously described.

Lupin paused dubiously. The old, well-worn Muggle path was now overgrown – no more than an animal trail for badgers and stray deer. Adam, too, began to have second thoughts. "South is more likely, don't you think?"

Remus frowned into the darkness. "Didn't you say you had a backup plan if we needed to reconsider?"

"Ah, yes..." Adam pulled out a card from his pocket, and strained to read it – his eyes had not yet adjusted and there was barely enough illumination from the half-crescent moon to even see his hand. He crouched down and cast a glimmer charm concealed by his robes. "It says, _There'll be dissuasion charms. Stick to the plan even if it no longer appeals."_

They both felt rather sheepish as realisation set in and they cautiously pushed through onto the old trail. After a few minutes, Remus, whose eyes adapted far faster than Adam's, extended his legs into a relaxed stride, but Adam held him back every couple of minutes while he used his glimmer to check the time again.

"What's the hold up?" growled Remus.

"I don't want to be seen before I take my Polyjuice and change my clothes, but I don't want to take it too early either."

"Oh, right. Well, we've miles to go so you'd better drink enough for a few hours."

Adam hesitated.

"Are you taking it now or what?" said Lupin.

Adam began to walk again but then stopped abruptly and turned away, clearly agitated. He crouched down as if to check his watch as usual but pulled out something else – a small bottle – which he held up to what little moonlight filtered down before pressing it to his lips. His hood prevented Lupin noticing the cork was not removed, but the werewolf's sharp eyes could see Adam's huge form diminishing beneath a tent of overlarge robes. The clothing was quickly shrunk with a spell and a lantern conjured to reveal the outer travel cloak had turned a vivid red.

"What are you doing! They'll see you half a mile away!"

He gasped as the little girl turned her face to him.

"How'd I look?" squeaked Hermione, now with her own voice.

Remus groaned. "Too conspicuous and... I wish you'd used someone I don't know."

"We want them to see us, remember? And your werewolf instincts will be focused on your natural enemy, not on me, right?"

"You're sure I'll have full control?"

"Well..."

Another groan of despair. "This is crazy."

"Come on, _Unca' Wemus_ ," laughed Hermione, "let's go see _Gwanny_."

Hermione grabbed his arm and they set off again along the path much more easily now they could see by the wavering pool of illumination cast before them.

.

The Baited Trap

Hermione and Remus barely spoke for the next half an hour. Occasionally, Hermione would tease Remus with, "Do you _weally_ think I'm _pwitty, Unca' Wemus?"_ To which Lupin would growl, "Adam, you're still as ugly as Kreacher's backside – you'll never be a really convincing Hermione."

An owl hooted unseen in the velvety darkness. There was even less to perceive beyond the lantern glare – only blackness – and both of them considered extinguishing the lamp.

"It was always a foolish idea," said Lupin, trying to fix his gaze away from the brightness.

"Shush, I'm trying to think. ... _Too much light ... dark and bright ... so all miss us, use a visus._ Of course!"

"Adam, will you please stop trying to sound like Hermione as well – it's bad enough you look... slightly like her!" complained Lupin.

But Hermione was waving her wand in decreasing spirals about them both. " _Visus Superior!"_

At once the light cast by the lantern diminished, yet the darkness beyond it appeared brighter and they could now see quite well between the trees. Twin dots of blinking yellow indicated where the owl was roosting, much farther than they'd thought.

"But does this mean they'll miss us?" said Lupin, reciting the childish verse in his head.

"No, it's not really dimmed our lamp at all. The spell is normally used to see better so you can hide in the dark from enemies but it works just as well in any light – and we need them to notice our lantern. We'll make better time too now we don't need to be so cautious about what is just out of sight."

But their improved sight had revealed the trail extended a formidable distance ahead, twisting and winding between the spruce trees, and they began to appreciate how much longer the journey might take.

"Are you sure you took enough Polyjuice?" murmured Lupin.

"Yes, no prob–"

They were hit from behind without warning, despite Hermione's precaution of improving their vision. No curses, no hexes, no magic at all but the wind was knocked out of Lupin's lungs and only the instinctive agility he'd gained from his condition saved the man from a nasty fall. He rolled with his assailant, heard his grunt, felt the big arms loosen. That was enough, an extra roll and he was free for the one moment he needed to stuff a modified Wolfsbane capsule into his mouth; but he did not swallow yet. He was half surrounded on both flanks and his attacker was rising to his feet as quickly as Lupin himself.

A girlish shriek of horror alerted Remus to Adam's direction, and he spun around. Behind the fleeing youngster, two men were twisted grotesquely upon the ground. How had he escaped their clutches with only the weak, childish form of a girl, and his wand not yet out? Yet he _was_ on the run – almost as planned – so Lupin bit into the pellet. As he did so, he was knocked down again, almost spitting out the juice onto the frozen soil as the ground whacked against his face for a second time.

"She's mine!" snarled a gloating voice from overhead. "First let's see who this is..." and Lupin was rolled over on to his back. A blaze of wandlight fell onto his face and Greyback laughed in recognition. "Cut him! Nail him! I'll be back!" He took off after Hermione in a relaxed lope the child could not hope to exceed. If only he'd waited a few more seconds...

Behind him, a fury seized Lupin, accelerating his transformation. Even while rising, he shattered the legs of the nearest charger, the shock and loss of gore silencing the enemy forever as he was tossed aside like a split-open blood bag. The fist gripping the knife of another attacker was diverted down into the ground; its owner's throat bitten through in the same motion. Three others he saw scattering in astonishment to reassess what they had assumed to be their helpless captive. A wand was raised but with a mighty creak, its slash only tore down a shielding conifer; Lupin was gone.

Hermione screamed again when she heard feet pounding towards her from behind.

"Delicious girl ... what a treat ... I do enjoy the softness of the skin," came the horribly familiar, rasping voice. "You can't escape me, girly!" Greyback easily ran around her, and she swerved to escape his clutches, stumbling over a great clump of woody roots. Down she went. If the lusty male had not been so eager, he'd have noticed she'd done so quite silently. As he fell upon her, extreme pain pierced all his flesh and he was held aloft as one impaled by a bed of magical spikes to await his fate.

Bounding through the forest came the raging beast that had been Lupin. Its slathering jaws took Greyback by the back of the neck and shook him like a rat, dropping his limp, bloody shape only to howl victory at the moon. Racing towards him, the lookouts from the pack came to a halt. Even in human form, they had to respond to that cry, for clearly, their old leader was broken, left for dead. They whimpered and shrank down, praying for acceptance by this newly-dominant alpha.

While Lupin asserted himself, driving them back, assessing that their submission was sufficiently grovelling, Greyback stirred in the shadows. His enhanced physique was well used to recovering from dreadful injuries. Through a haze he sensed he was deposed, but knew himself too weak to respond yet. As the pack moved off to begin their ancient rituals of interaction, he began to crawl in the opposite direction. At least he still had the girl. She would be comfort, entertainment, and sustenance until he regained his strength ready for a counterattack.

There she lay, tangled in the roots and at his mercy. Dishevelled, legs bare, how exquisite the dark spaces... He sniffed deeply of the night air to catch her scent before moving closer. Nothing. No smell at all.

"Hello, Fenrir." She rolled over and flowed effortlessly towards him, wand pointed directly between his eyes. He knew no more. He knew nothing of his being Apparated across Europe. Nor of his magic being removed while he lay entombed for weeks by a draught of Living Death, there to await interrogation for his many atrocities.

.

The Bitch, the Bimbo, and the Bloodhound

On that same dark evening – within the same hour that Greyback was captured – Rita Skeeter stood, hidden under a concealment charm, watching the house opposite, and wishing she could stamp her feet to keep warm. Below a garish streetlight, the exhaust from a taxi was visibly pumping out clouds of carbon monoxide in a steady stream – though the journalist knew nothing of such Muggle toxins.

"But, Rodney, _who_ is coming to visit you that's so important we have to take a break?" said the voluptuous young lady in the doorway of the house.

"I've told you, darling, it's just business. I've got to earn a crust, and your room at Claridge's costs a pretty penny."

"But Rodders..."

"Run along now, and I'll join you later tonight for some... magic tricks."

The girl giggled and planted a soppy wet kiss on Rodney's lips, then climbed into the cab. Rita Skeeter waited a few minutes after it had departed and 'Rodders' had gone indoors before she crossed the street. Information was money, but secretly-held information was worth even more. She knocked.

"Ms Skeeter, please come in," said Rodney Dunn, almost before he'd opened the door for her. He wiped his mouth with a sudden handkerchief. "This is all a bit of a rush."

"Rush? I sent you Xeno Lovegood's hat a week ago!"

"Which reminds me, I'd be grateful if you didn't send owls to this address; Mrs Williams nearly had a stroke."

"Well, I won't if you don't send your postman to my flat. Deal? Where is your housekeeper, anyway?"

"I uuh... gave her the afternoon and evening off." He flushed slightly and turned away.

Skeeter looked at the lipstick-smeared teacup amongst the used plates and dishes on the table. "That long, huh? So, how far did you get?"

"I don't know _what_ you mean!" said Dunn, his colour rising even more.

"With investigating Xeno Lovegood's hair, I mean!"

"Ah, right... well, it's all very technical..."

"Just give me the short version: did he use the Muggle pen or not?"

"No. Definitely not."

Skeeter sniffed her disappointment and sagged down at the table, staring at the teacup and hoping Dunn wasn't going to offer her a drink. She opened her crocodile-skin handbag and took out a slender cigarette holder from which a lit cigarette instantly protruded once she'd clamped it between her teeth. After a long drag, Rita blew out a long string of blue smoke over the messy tabletop, as if to fumigate it.

"However..." said Dunn, mysteriously.

She looked up through the haze she'd created.

"We – that is, my contacts – did more research... a _lot_ more actually, given that we only had a sample from that one suspect and..." He knew Skeeter would have no idea of how little labour was involved.

"And...?"

"Well, I had to pay them extra..."

Skeeter sighed, but business was business. "What do you want, Dunn? Surely you've not used up _all_ the love potion from last year on that bimbo?"

Dunn looked startled for a moment, then straightened himself up rather stiffly. "I'll have you know, Melissa is a good friend of mine."

"Yes, I'm sure you're _very_ close. What then?"

"Mmm... I wanted to give her something special; it'll be her birthday soon."

"Yes, a sixteenth birthday present is always tricky..."

Dunn's eyes flared, and he blurted what sounded like " _You bag!"_

Skeeter smirked. She was much too thick-skinned to care about physical insults.

"Your bag," he said again, but in a more controlled, insistent manner.

"What?"

"I've never seen anything so fine – or so expensive-looking." A sly look crossed his face. "But did you obtain an import permit?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You need documents for crocodile skin these days, didn't you know? I could help you there – if I had access to such a bag, that is."

"It's not bloody crocodile, you dolt!" Rita winced as if she'd just revealed something she'd rather not have. The scheming witch reached for the teapot and, with a shaking hand, began to pour cold tea into the smeared cup.

Dunn sensed an advantage – a rare occurrence in Rita's company. "What is it then?"

"Nothing. It's... you were right, it's crocodile, erm... Orinoco actually."

"If that's Orinoco then I'm as befuddled as a baboon," said Dunn with a thoughtful stare.

Skeeter muttered through teeth viciously gritted around the cigarette holder, "That can be arranged..."

There was a sudden flash of light and Dunn blinked confusedly. "What were we saying?"

"You were giving me new information in exchange for more love potion," said Rita. "I'll send it by return owl."

"Ah yes, thanks. The exclusive part of the DNA is half Xeno's so it must have come from a sibling or an offspring."

Rita gaped in surprise and the cigarette holder fell into the cold tea she'd poured. She began to stir with it absently. "Of course...!"

She rose out of her chair quite abruptly, clutching her precious handbag with long scarlet talons, and stalked off to the door. "I have much work to do..."

.

Long Division

It was spring before Harry and Hermione had worked out a ruse to let her 'accidentally' cross paths briefly with Neville.

Madam Gawtley had just given Harry and Neville an arithmetic lesson and was handing out homework when the drawing room door opened and Hermione's head poked in. "Oh, sorry, I just popped over to borrow this morning's Prophet, and Aunt Hestia said it might be up here...? Hi, Harry! Hi, Neville!"

"Hermione!" cried Harry, feigning great surprise.

"Hullo," murmured Neville, politely, flushing more than a little.

Madam Gawtley was reaching for her travel cloak. "Sorry, I've not seen it. Harry, can you help Hermione find the newspaper? I've got to go. Wish we could see more of you, Hermione, but there's not much more I can teach you at this level."

"Bye, Nan!" waved Harry. Hermione noticed the old teacher didn't get her little boy hug nowadays either.

"Goodbye, Madam Gawtley," said Neville.

After she'd gone out the door, Harry pretended to search the room. Hermione said, "I can't stop long. The stupid Prophet owl never turned up this morning – not that I believe most of what it says."

Neville nodded. "Yes, Dad says it's all rubbish what Rita wrote anyway. I mean, she couldn't know if she wasn't there. I'd ignore it if I were you."

A chill shuddered through Hermione, remembering how Rita could be almost anywhere in her beetle form without being noticed. She looked wildly around the room: on the tables, chairs and curtains, on either of her friend's head. Frantically she began roughing away at her own hair with clawed fingers.

"Over here!" Harry cried triumphantly, holding up the newspaper from behind an armchair.

He handed it to Hermione who began to read:

.

 _HAS LIGHT PROFESSOR GONE DARK? OR SIMPLY DIM?  
An informed investigation by  
Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_

 _Hogwarts Muggle Studies Professor, Quirinus Quirrell, will be taking a year-long leave of absence (with the Headmaster's blessing) commencing this summer when he searches for new information about the notorious Black Arc coven. While he claims to only be gaining first-hand experience in the field 'to further his career', Many of us cannot help wondering what particular career he had in mind._

 _I spoke to Percy Weasley, an intelligent, hardworking, third year student at the school, who offered this insight: "Everyone knows he's after the Defence Against the Dark Arts post." But is he? Has the Headmaster, in fact, already rejected Quirrell's application for that job? Is it not strange that Dumbledore was 'not available to comment' when I politely requested an interview? There was once another wizard who disappeared from the world to gain dark knowledge, and we do know what happened to him: he returned as the infamous You-know-who._

Hermione well remembered Quirrell himself coming back with a dark secret. Would history repeat itself in a modified form? Or would Quirrell's character remain uncontaminated by the experience? She continued reading:

 _Nor is Quirrell the only suspicious character teaching vulnerable children. Is there a conspiracy? Is a not-so-vulnerable youngster plotting something far more terrible than even He-who-could-not-be-named? Well, I am prepared to name names, and readers, you should also prepare yourself for a terrible shock. (to be continued next month...)_

Hermione sank into the nearest armchair and stared at the evil leer on Quirrell's photograph as he turned furtively away.

"Dad says they take loads of pictures and use the worst," said Neville. "Likely, he's politely grinning at one of the photographer's jokes and looking away in confusion."

 _Or is he?_ thought Hermione. But that was the least of her worries. _Has Rita obtained information about MY plans?_ Neville's words came back to her: _...she couldn't know if she wasn't there._ With a shrug, Hermione dismissed her fears. Neville was right. There was no way Rita could have known for sure it was Luna and herself at Paul Ingleton's hearing, and suspicions based on the Quibbler article proved nothing. No, Skeeter must have sneaked into Hogwarts in her beetle form to learn of Quirrell's plans and also overheard kids – perhaps Fred and George – planning to prank someone. _That_ was her 'conspiracy'!

"But how am I supposed to calculate that?" Neville was saying to Harry, in a slightly-raised voice.

 _Is he reaching out to me?_ thought Hermione.

Harry scratched his head "Uuh... well, I think I know but it's hard to explain."

"Oh, are you doing arithmetic? What's the problem?" said Hermione.

"Long division of 12186 by 14," moaned Neville. "I can see here look – that 121 is bigger than 14 so I have to divide it and carry the remainder but how?"

"Ah... right, well, you've learnt multiplication?"

"Yes," chorused Neville and Harry.

"So, first guesstimate how many 14s are in 121 then test it by multiplying it as a separate calculation. Adjust your guess if you're wrong."

Neville face twisted up a little as he tried to puzzle it out.

Hermione said, "Well ten times 14 is 140 so that's too big for a start so try 9."

While the boys worked on their homework, Hermione re-read what Skeeter had said about Professor Quirrell. In her former life he'd gone in search of Voldemort and come back corrupted and possessed – what if the Black Arc took advantage of his inexperience this time? _But I could do the same!_ No one would be very surprised if Quirrell never returned from his dangerous sabbatical. Was this not a perfect opportunity to spirit him away to Devil's Deep? With a grimace, Hermione relinquished the temptation – the man deserved the benefit of the doubt until such time as there were definite indications of wrong-doing.

"Got it!" cried Neville, but Harry was chewing the end of his quill.

"What's up, Harry?" said Hermione.

"What if you're put in Ravenclaw?" said Harry.

Hermione smiled. "I won't! We've talked about this before. The Sorting Hat takes into account your own choice."

"Yes, but Dad says it only weighs that against things like ambition and smartness – and you know more than anybody ever did!"

"I promise you I'll be in Gryffindor with you. I give you my word." But a frown had crossed Hermione's face which she quickly hid. Harry had a point. They'd be starting at Hogwarts next year. She'd better have a plan ready – even if it meant vanishing the hat into non-being...

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _In case you don't know or don't remember, only the owner can retrieve anything from a mokeskin pouch and it's not even visible to anyone else._

 _Suzululu4moe's review in the last chapter raised an important question about the correct scent being created by Polyjuice. Well, I don't think there is any canon so it's a matter of conjecture. My take on it is that the potion does replicate everything but the mind. I think it's important to remember it's magic and not science fiction. I was thinking about this the other day with animagi. What happens to clothes and things? In the movie, Sirius as the dog is seen running into a waiting room at the station and we see his silhouette through the frosted glass pulling on his robes or cloak. That suggests the dog carries them in a backpack which is daft or Sirius wandlessly conjures them. No, I think he'd transform fully clothed and carrying whatever he had when he previously changed, wand and all. We see McGonagall transform from cat to herself fully clothed in class in the first movie. That's how I see it too – magic not sci-fi. Same with Polyjuice imo, you get an exact duplicate even to vocal chords but the mind is the same so the way the person speaks might be different. So, Ron and Harry had to adjust their manner of speaking when they emulated Crabbe and Goyle in CoS. Hermione has a deep voice when she's Adam but still has to remember to talk like a big man (or like she thinks a big man would talk which can be hilarious!)_

 _Slight error in my story. I think I previously referred to Mrs Williams as Dunn's landlady but in this chapter as housekeeper. I needed her to be 'sent away'. I might go back and alter the earlier chapter to 'housekeeper'. I guess one can imagine her as both – a landlady (owner of the house) who also provides housekeeping services? Anyway, that's what happens when one is not working far enough ahead in a story and can change earlier conflicts before publication._

 _Talking about writing ahead, I've gained a little so I'm slightly over a chapter in front again. And the end of this Book 0 is in sight! Looking at my copious notes, I've got through almost everything that is to happen but there's not a lot left in the year or so remaining before Hogwarts so that part of the story will move faster. I was also wondering where to start each book and decided to start in the preceding summer the same as the books. So that this Book 0 will end about June 1991. Not long to go!_

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	31. 0:Banged Up

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and seek cooperation between Muggles and Magicals. She caught the rogue werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, but Rita Skeeter discovered that the ballpoint pen at the hearing was held by Luna who, with Ginny, will soon be going to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 31**

 **Banged Up**

* * *

.

An Unexpected Demand

Rodney Dunn stared in utter astonishment at the two brutally short notes he gripped between white-knuckled fingers: one scrawled on Claridge's notepaper, the other written on parchment.

"Owls! No more owls, please Mr Dunn," wailed Mrs Williams, as she waddled off, still in a fluster after delivering a second letter within minutes of the normal mail to her lodger. "I provide housekeeping service, not menagerie management!"

But Dunn neither heard her nor cared; the messages themselves were more than his overloaded senses could absorb at one time. A harsh dismissal of all his future services was bad enough, but the other:

 _You tricked me with that potion, didn't you, you bastard! You and your insatiable appetite! Now I'm due and it can only be yours. You must arrange a termination because I can't. Don't cross me!_

What rotten luck! How had she found out? He'd have to speak to her, face the music, smooth things over. She was too important to his needs.

Shaken, he consulted his extensive address book. Yes, this could be fixed... one way or another.

.

Civil Justice

The brief contact Hermione had experienced with Neville held promise, but her busy schedule, her wish to spend as much time as possible with Luna and Ginny before they left, and Cathesis League duties, kept her away. Then there was Fenrir Greyback who was still held by the Living Death potion until Crouch and Vera Gair could find time to join Hermione in the interrogation. As if that wasn't enough, at their next meeting – as Rosemary – she was informed by Crouch of another Death Eater who was currently on sick leave from the Ministry.

"He's a slacker named Wade Gibbon. How he got work in the Ministry's owl communications I don't know. He was a Death Eater who claimed to have been controlled by the Imperious Curse during the first war. I've always doubted him but had no proof. Ever heard of him, Rosemary?"

"Only once. He was amongst a group of Death Eaters who invaded Hogwarts in 1996 and he was doing so willingly from what I heard," she replied.

"None of that means he's active now!" said Mike from the other side of the table.

"But he's well-placed to intercept messages, and from what Rosemary said, he was certainly guilty in the past because he continued as a Death Eater. The point being, he claims to have been infected by owl psittacosis so the Ministry was forced to keep paying his wages while he's on leave. Jop here says he saw him cheerfully carrying a large crate of Firewhisky home from the Leaky the other night. If he's sick then I'm Merlin's uncle."

Jop nodded his confirmation.

Mike growled, "You can't incarcerate a man for idling."

"No," said Crouch, "but you can for his earlier crimes and so prevent future ones. Don't you see? This is a perfect opportunity. He has no family. Nobody but his drinking cronies would even notice if he disappeared."

Rosemary nodded. "But don't let him see our faces until he's confessed under Veritaserum. It's inconceivable that's he's completely innocent, but if so, we Obliviate him as well, before releasing him."

"Agreed," said Crouch.

"Yes," said Vera. She checked off an item on the meeting's agenda, then came to the final one on the list. "We now need to make a decision about the Triapetit. In its present form it's too frail. The proposition is we reduce the number of choices to at most, seven, and make each one be potent. Remember, once an accused is found guilty on any point, we are then free to question them again without limit or even use Legilimens or forced Pensieve."

Mike frowned. "Is that even possible? Extracting memories?"

Vera looked to Barty Crouch as her source. "Yes," he said. "In most cases I'm sure I can use the Imperious Curse to compel them to divulge their memories."

"You've done this!" cried Mike.

Crouch shook his head. "No, but there have been many times I wished I could. It's not as if we're going to use it on suspects, only on those already convicted."

Vera tried to hurry things along. "Are we ready to vote on the proposition?"

"I am," said Crouch. The others nodded except for Mike who remained sullen.

"All those in favour," said Vera.

"Aye!" came the voices of Barty, Jop, Vera, and Rosemary.

"Then it's agreed, with four in favour and one abstention." She ticked off her list. "That completes today's formal–"

"Oh, yes, it's all very formal and civilised, isn't it?" growled Mike. "Some of mankind's worst atrocities were carried out in a gentlemanly way too."

Rosemary sighed. "Mike, if you can propose a better method of saving mankind from a horrible fate then we'd all like to hear it."

The only reply was a humph!

Vera resumed. "As I was saying, that completes today's formal motions. Rosemary, did you say you had something else to bring up?"

Rosemary nodded and drew a hefty tome out from her bag. "Yes, solitary confinement is harsh for many, but being forced to share with other prisoners has its own form of suffering. Regular socialising with the wicked also reinforces evil beliefs, discourages remorse and reform, and may even end in torture and murder."

She let that sink in before proceeding, "This is a new version of the virtually endless book we give each prisoner. I've improved the enchantments so it is more interactive, and a good friend of mine has drawn into it some black and white illustrations of visualised erm... 'counsellors' for want of a better word." She opened the book.

"Visualised?" said Jop.

"Yes, they're not based on any living person. They are defined by the very best principles of Muggle care workers, advisers, and therapists to provide a sympathetic ear and a sense of true companionship to–"

"Sympathetic!" It was Barty's turn to grumble. "How can anyone be sympathetic to those vile–!"

"Not sympathetic to their evil attitudes but to their plight of being lost from society. Don't misunderstand me – these counsellors will tolerate a lot of abuse and allow the one in their care to blow off steam but ultimately they will be very firm and leave for a few weeks or months until they receive an apology. The beauty of it is that magical life is not sentient – they can appear to be unhappy but, like someone in your dream, they are not conscious beings."

"We're not?" asked the drawing of a witch sat at her desk in the book.

"No, you just think you are," explained Rosemary.

The witch wrote that down and frowned to herself, muttering, "Wish I'd known that the other day when I visited page thirteen. It was raining cats and dogs and I'd left my umbrella on page 423. I distinctly remember the–"

"Yes, yes, yes," said Rosemary, swiftly closing the book.

"Very well, I propose we put it to the vote," said Vera. "All those in favour?"

"Aye," said Rosemary, Jop, and Vera.

"Aye," said Mike Worthing.

"Ahah!" said Crouch. "So you don't mind us being formal and civilised when it suits, eh, Worthing?"

Mike muttered something under his breath.

"Very well," said Crouch, "if everyone thinks these monsters need babysitting then I won't object – Aye!"

"Carried unanimously," said Vera.

.

The Wolf Out-witched

At Devil's Deep, Gibbons was dealt swift justice by Adam Brown with Barty and Vera in the background out of his line of sight. The former Death Eater admitted assisting in torture and three brutal Muggle deaths which, though not intended, he didn't care about either way. Loss of magic and a life sentence were quickly agreed, and he was carried off screaming through the stone to his final residence.

Fenrir Greyback took longer. As soon as he was awoken by Wiggenweld Potion, He strained against his magical bonds. "They won't last," he sneered. "You can't hold me." His lips began to move in a silent incantation but he was immediately Stupefied by Barty Crouch who had been watching him most carefully.

Crouch snarled angrily. "He's powerful and cunning and deceived a Ministry committee during the first war. We also have your testimony, Adam, that he attacked you in your normal form as Rosemary with clear intent to ravish and consume a child. That makes him less than a beast in my eyes. Since the minimum sentence for his evil would include loss of magic, I vote we carry that out before we question him."

"I agree," said Adam.

Crouch said, "Vera, you don't need to vote on this if you prefer not to as we already have two votes."

"Nothing would please me more than for that foul animal to be magically castrated! I won't rest until I see it," said Vera in a surprisingly bitter tone. She'd formed quite an attachment to Rosemary, and, with Crouch, she'd listened to the little girl's account of Greyback's capture with much emotion.

A squirming Hirudo leech was promptly placed on Greyback's eye, and they all watched to make sure the magic parasite accepted him as wizard enough for it to prey upon. Only when it disappeared behind his eyeball did they relax and sit down to wait.

While they waited, they discussed the questions they would ask.

"Asking if they are countering Veritaserum is a waste of a question," said Vera, "because they could say 'no' whether it's true or false. We need only worry if we are sure they are guilty but do not confess. What do we do then?"

Adam shrugged. "It's difficult to see how they could counter it because none of them would be expecting it and usually there is quite a delay between them being captured and being questioned. Time does not stop for them while under Living Death so any prior potions or enchantments would have faded. Anyway, we test for magical effects first."

"So, drop the question?" said Vera.

The others agreed.

After much further discussion, Vera continued, "Do we need to keep asking who is the leader of the Black Arc? Gibbon didn't know, and you said neither did Alecto or Barty's son. The gang are possibly networking, so each member only knows a few other connections. What I mean is, the organisation might not be a web with a central command, but just a continuous net with unknown command locations and somehow passing on instructions unseen."

"Or using Obliviate to mask identities," said Adam.

Crouch said, "I think it's generally accepted that all those estranged from the House of Black are at the core. Bellatrix Black is definitely involved and most likely the leader in my opinion."

"Someone might know. We need to keep asking," said Adam.

"Very well."

Vera ticked her list. "What about the questions about their associates? They might choose to answer those to avoid the more direct ones."

"Not likely," said Adam. "If they believe they might wriggle free using that tactic then they also know the gang will inflict its own retribution – far worse than ours." She paused. "But yes, drop the one directly about the names and change the one about their crimes to include the names."

Crouch said, "Also drop the one about remorse. The onus is on them to show remorse. We don't need a question about it. Anyway, the one about them committing further crimes indicates lack of remorse. We could drop that too."

"No," said Adam. "We could prune this list down to four or five, but that's not acceptable. We have to give them sufficient choices so if this method is ever adopted by a future Wizengamot, no prosecutor can use it with limited questions to gain private information from an innocent. Remember, they'll choose their own questions. That's the only way I think we'll get them to accept it. The Pure-bloods are not all evil but they may have family secrets they wish to remain hidden. Seven should be the minimum."

"So, the questions for our purposes..." Vera read out the final list:

 _1\. In order of severity, and most serious first, what crimes have you committed?_

 _2\. How did you carry out your worst crimes?_

 _3\. What secrets must you hide from this court?_

 _4\. What crimes have been committed by which of your criminal associates?_

 _5\. Who is the ultimate leader of the gang known as the Black Arc?_

 _6\. If you are released from custody, do you expect to commit further crimes?_

 _7\. Then why do you deserve punishment?_

"They're always going to chose the final three," said Crouch. "Of those, only number seven will count."

"Which is why it's such a clever question," said Vera. "It doesn't sound so threatening as the first three, but actually it means much the same."

Adam nodded. "Yes, under the effects of Veritaserum, they cannot hide the truth of their guilt even from themselves. And any attempt to try would force them to divulge their crimes and why they think they don't deserve punishing for them. It's win, win."

A low growl from the darkness suggested Greyback had been awake and listening. Predators are quite proficient at remaining absolutely still. "Which is why I choose four, five, and six," he snarled. "My associates have committed many murders, torture, and a host of other crimes. I'll be happy to give you details under Veritaserum. I've no idea who the leader of the Black Arc is, and yes, when you release me, I intend to commit thousands of crimes. So what? You can't sentence me for crimes I haven't committed."

There was silence for a few moments, then Adam smiled. "Pity we've not put the questions to you yet, isn't it, Greyback?" He turned to the others. "We change question four to: _4\. Which associates helped you commit crimes or did so on their own?"_

Now both Crouch and Vera were smiling grimly. A howl went up from Greyback and once more he began straining at his bonds. Abruptly, his cry fell silent as he sensed his own magical impotence. "What ... have ... you ... done!"

Adam dematerialised and flowed effortlessly forward until his huge bulk towered over the former werewolf. With his wand pointing pointing directly between Greyback's eyes, he said, in the most girlish way he could manage, "Hello, Fenrir – remember me?"

Those eyes widened now. "YOU!" The dark lips curved back, revealing yellowish fangs. "That girl was you? A man? You lie!"

"I swear on my magic, that was me you tried to attack in the woods."

Within his binds, Greyback shuddered and Adam shook his head. "That's the weakness of pathetic bullies like you who attack the small and vulnerable. But now I outweigh you. I outwit you. And, believe it or not, I out-experience and out-curse you too. You see, your magic has been permanently drained away. You have become a Muggle. I'm not even sure you'll transform each month any more."

Greyback's scream of rage echoed around the pitiless stone walls of the receiving chamber. Adam let him rant for a while then silenced the beast with a few drops of Veritaserum. "Read him his chosen, four, five, and six, Vera. Let's get this over with."

.

The Secret Crush

With Greyback's incriminating testimony, not only did he receive a life sentence, but several of the worst of his former pack were rounded up over the next few months, and imprisoned in Devil's Deep out of harm's way. By the approach of summer, Hermione could focus more on visiting Luna and Ginny.

They greeted her off the Knight Bus and led her excitedly up the hill. "Mummy's working frantically to finish the Tutomees," said Luna, reaching out to finger-feather one of many silken scarves that were fluttering like flags from bamboo sticks, as if to keep the heat off the giant buttercups that lined the track. Hermione noticed her hair was braided with coloured ribbons in a neat plait down her back.

"I thought she'd perfected them?" frowned Hermione. "She said the diadem faded away after she used it last."

"Yes, it's returned to the care of the Grey Lady."

"Oh, you mean the new spell is complete, but she's still enchanting the books with it?"

"That's right. She's done ours first because we'll be leaving in a few weeks. Harry's ten this month, did you know? Poor Rose will have to wait."

Hermione blinked at the rapid changes in Luna's conversation as they neared the house. "Ah, I see..."

New string now bound the watering can even more tightly to the rainwater butt and a drainpipe, but was already being chafed against the brickwork. Luna peeped inside. "Poor thing's dry..." She eased the rubber bung in the side of the butt just enough for it to drip onto the can's grateful spout. "There..."

"Barking..." said Ron, grinning from the doorway. "Hello, Hermione!"

"Ron!" cried Ginny.

"I don't mind," said Luna, cheerfully. "I'm sure there are worse places than Barking."

"No Harry?" said Hermione, as they went inside out of the sun.

"Later," said Ron. "We're upstairs today because there's more of a breeze through the windows."

"Ah, Hermione! Come on up!" called Mrs Lovegood from above. "Xeno's in town so there's no noise."

Soon they were all sipping pumpkin juice and checking through the enchanted books once more. Luna and Ginny had the European version of a Magical History primer. Ron was absorbed in a basic Quidditch guide he'd help create. Hermione assisted Pandora and the next hour passed peacefully. Fluffy white clouds drifted across the blue outside and Luna gazed at them from time to time. Attracted by the smell of juice, Insects hummed through one window, flew around a few times, then departed out the back.

"That's pretty," said Luna, getting up from her work to examine a jug they'd emptied earlier.

Pandora sighed and rose too, knowing her daughter had already worked too long for a summer's day such as this. "I'll get fresh juice. I have some cooling in a bucket down the well."

"It's just a ladybird, Lune," said Ron, dismissively.

"Well, no, it is a flying beetle but it's not a common ladybird. I've seen it lots while we've been chatting so I know. It makes me talk funny sometimes. I think it must be infested with Wrackspurts."

Despite the warm air, Hermione's blood suddenly ran cold. The book she'd been working on flew one way and her wand leapt into her hand as she jumped to her feet, spinning towards where Luna was standing, peering at the jug handle.

"Oh, you've scared it off!" said Luna. Her mouth fell open when she saw Hermione charging at her with wand fully forward.

"Stupefy!" A beam of red light shot past Luna's eyebrows and out of the window. To hit an insect on the wing at that distance was asking a lot, but she got lucky. Perhaps it clipped one wing, perhaps only a tiny leg. Whatever the reason, the creature fell out past the sill with Hermione throwing herself after it, shrieking "Ooooooooh!" all the way down.

Ginny's own scream froze on her lips in horror. Ron gawped in shock.

"Ah, can we fly now?" said Luna.

But Hermione was not flying, she was plunging headfirst towards the rainwater butt, and shooting a charm ahead of her. At the last moment she dematerialised and curved out through the barrel just as there was a loud bang. It was an odd sound, somewhat like stuffing a sandbag into a trombone and hitting it with a hard rubber Bludger. _GUNNNGGGG!_ it rang.

Hermione stood on the path, one hand clamped over her mouth in horror. "Omigod! I didn't mean it!"

Above, the three children stared down at her. "Whatever's the matter, Hermione?" called Luna, but Ginny and Ron, who had occasionally seen their big brother Bill dive off the Ottery bridge into the river, but had never seen a little girl dive out of an upper-floor window into a garden before, remained petrified.

They were too high to see much. Only Hermione could observe that the watering can was greatly distorted outwards from within and its handle and spout were bent and twisted. As the container struggled, the tether was tugged off the broken handle and, free at last, the enchanted can sailed away down the hill with Hermione in chase. By the time the other three children came scampering after them, she'd wrapped one of the long silk scarves around the can several times.

"Don't look – it's too horrible!"

So Luna looked. The metal container was buckled but not split. "Poor thing! But don't worry, Mummy can repair it good as new! There's..." Her voice tailed off. From within the can, staring up at her through the coloured silk, just for a second before Hermione obstructed it, she thought she'd glimpsed an eye. When Hermione next moved aside, there was no sign of the can, the scarf, not even a slosh of water.

"Oh, what a pity, it flew off again," said Hermione, but nobody believed her. "Guess we won't see that anymore," She looked at the others staring in confusion. Luna was clutching something too. Something dark, shiny, and scaly...

"I found this by the rain barrel..." she said limply, holding it out.

"Er... yes, it's mine," said Hermione – rather quickly, thought Luna, as it was grabbed from her.

"Yours?"

"Yes, my new crocodile handbag."

"It's not crocodile," Luna said firmly. "It's from a sea dragon called–"

"Who cares!" squealed Hermione, stifling her cry at the last moment with a fist half between her teeth. She summoned her beaded bag out from the window of the house and pushed the handbag inside. "I mean, I don't mind if it's not real crocodile – is what I meant."

Luna was giving her a funny look. Ron and Ginny still appeared dazed.

Hermione decided to play her last card. "Look, it's a big secret, yes? I have to dash. Tell your mum I've gone to the bathroom if she asks. I'll be back in five."

"'Back in five'?" muttered Ron, as she disappeared and they traipsed back up to the house.

" 'Back _at_ five', I think she meant," said Ginny.

"But that's over six hours away," said Luna. "Nobody would be in the bathroom that long, not even on your birthday."

But Ron and Ginny had stopped just ahead of her, and were staring to the side of the path.

"Blood on the buttercups," whispered Ginny. "Splashes, see?"

Ron wondered if Hermione had banged her head after her fall – that would explain a lot. They swapped ideas for a minute or two, then continued to trudge slowly up the slope – Luna contemplating how she was going to obscure Hermione's absence.

Mrs Lovegood was hovering a big earthenware jug in the backdoor as they entered at the front, and didn't seem at all surprised they'd given up on their studies to play in the garden. "Yes, let's take a break," she said, "you've done well this morning."

She glanced up the stairs and shouted, "Hermione! Take a rest! Come on down and join us!"

"Erm..." began Luna.

"Okay." Hermione came down the stairs, slightly more breathless than one might have expected, but Pandora did not notice.

.

Corrupt in Mind and Body

Later that day at Devil's Deep, Hermione stepped back in disgust as she burst open the watering can with a spell. The lump of misshapen flesh that fell onto the stone floor was only half human in form and size. Stunted limbs stuck out at grotesque angles and the face was barely recognisable as Rita Skeeter held unconscious by the Draught of Living Death. This could never be explained to Barty and Vera, Hermione knew – she'd have to interrogate the woman alone, knowing there could be only one outcome.

The damage had not been intended, yet, knowing the evil caused by the witch, it seemed to the young girl quite fitting that the journalist's physical body should end up as corrupt as her hideous character. She removed the twisted spectacles then placed a magic leech upon the one eye that was most human, but whether it was the left or right there was no way to tell.

While she waited, she contemplated the published bile that had caused such suffering and, indirectly, even death, by the foul, uncaring reporter. It was likely that Skeeter had assassinated more characters than Voldemort himself with her spite, and had turned hypocrisy into an art form. In particular, the gutter journalist's vile criticism of Harry after his death had been hard to bear: 'weak', 'moping', 'undeserving of his awards' were just some of the lighter mud flung after the man himself could no longer defend his actions. Hermione's hand tightened on her wand; she was as close as she'd ever been to killing in cold blood. ... She let it go.

The contents of the handbag revealed nothing incriminating. There was the usual Quick-Quotes Quill and a blank roll of parchment, but with Pandora being present this morning, Skeeter couldn't have heard anything tasty enough to note down. A shudder ran down Hermione's spine. The protective spell that changed their words if anyone might overhear them discussing Hermione's previous life would not have prevented Rita gathering information, especially about some of her abilities, as well as their training and other preparations. The intrusive acid queen knew it all! A stealthy visit to Skeeter's office would be needed to make sure any prior notes were destroyed.

Hermione snapped the bag shut and smoothed her hand over the beautifully-polished, black reptilian skin of which it was made. What had Luna said about the hide? Sea dragon? It was a very select fashion accessory paid for by blood money and the death of a rare and noble creature. Who had paid her off or bribed her? A witch like Skeeter would sell herself on the street for information, so the bag must have been really pricey to buy her silence. Hermione put it aside as she heard a groan from the mess on the floor.

"What's happened to me?" wailed Rita, flexing her appendages like a large misshapen crab that had lost its shell.

"I partly-stunned you in your flying beetle form as you flew out the window so you fell down towards a watering can," said Hermione. "I cast an Unbreakable Charm on the can to trap you, but you were already changing back from your Animagus shape as you fell into it. The process continued as far as it could but..."

"You silly girl!" screeched Rita. "Release me from your curse so I can finish transforming. How have you done this!"

"There's no curse. I removed your magic."

The thing on the floor became still and silent. Then: "You what!"

"Your magic is gone forever."

Rita scuttled forward on three legs and an arm, warped face contorted even more by rage. "YOU INCREDIBLY STUPID CHILD! I could have fixed it!"

"Oh, sorry..." Hermione was, for the moment, slightly upset. It had not been her wish to add further pain on top of Skeeter's sentence. The moment passed.

Rita continued to rage. "I can't see myself. Where are my glasses? Have you a mirror? What do I look like?"

"Honestly, you don't want to know." Hermione replaced the jewelled spectacles over the distorted features as best she could. "Actually, you look like one of your own stories: bent and twisted beyond all recognition."

"AAAGGHHH!"

"Speaking of which, here's something for you to read." Hermione hovered her Triapetit question list before the crab-thing. "Instructions are at the top. Tell me when you've chosen your three questions."

Crab-Skeeter spluttered in disbelief, but her best eye scanned the document. "Fake! False! Illegal! You'll get Azkaban for this!"

"No, actually it's _you_ who will be placed in Azkaban if you don't cooperate. Read it carefully. Your fate depends on it."

"YOU CAN'T!"

"Oh, do wake up, Rita! Did you never think there would be payback for the misery you have caused? Where do you think you are? This is your cell. The sky is not real. There are no entrances or exits here and Apparition won't work – assuming your were magical, which you're not anymore."

There was a stunned silence as reality began to sink in.

"You just ... can't..." whimpered the broken creature.

"CHOOSE!"

There was no reply.

"Very well," said Hermione, "the first three apply by default."

Hermione pinned Skeeter down with a binding spell and applied Veritaserum. Even she was shocked by the confessions that then poured out in a long, monotone stream. It became apparent that Rita was well aware of the terrible harm her career had caused, yet she didn't care in the slightest. Any regrets she entertained were for herself only.

When the potion had worn off, Rita whined, "Don't you understand? This is journalism. In order to survive, a profit-driven newspaper has no choice but to publish the most saleable, dramatic stories it can! That won't end with my forced retirement!"

"Then perhaps the media ought not to be profit-driven! Imagine if it published useful, informative, accurate news instead!"

"Are you completely mad!" Skeeter continued muttering about the ignorant naivety of people, especially stuck-up, brattish half-wits.

Meanwhile, Hermione repaired the watering can which, shocked by its experience, now looked more contrite and willing to behave itself in future. She then hooked her arm through its handle, ready to return it to the Lovegoods. Before leaving, she provided Rita Skeeter with a special version of the neverending book for company, telling her that only a portion of it was true. The rest was false, distorted, exaggerated, and padded out with repetition and meaningless irrelevances, while the illustrations had been instructed to give good advice only some of the time – the rest was deliberately misleading.

"What does it matter!" sneered Rita. "Sincerity died long ago with the Founders."

 _It certainly died in you..._ thought Hermione. "In time you'll value truth – you'll _beg_ to know it."

"Truth! You dare speak of truth! Your whole life is a lie! Do you think I'm a fool? A little child with your abilities? Who can see the future? Fly? Pass through walls? You who are so gracious and considerate leave me in solitary with nothing but a book to read? I'm a writer you imbecile! I need to put down my ideas else I'll go mad!"

"Fine! Here..." She opened Skeeter's handbag and, taking the Quick-Quotes Quill, placed it between the leaves of the book. "There's endless space in there to write. Knock yourself out."

While Rita continued to rant and rave, Hermione turned aside to consider a fair penalty. Certainly there were precedents in Muggle legal history. Scandal writers had faced prison terms for far less than the catalogue of spite that had poured from Skeeter's quill during her career.

"The sentence is eight years."

Skeeter wailed bitterly at every subsequent statement as Hermione ploughed firmly on. "At the end of that time I shall attempt to straighten you out as best I can. Then you will be fully Obliviated of any knowledge of the magical community and of who you were. After that you will live out your days as a Muggle in some other English-speaking country. You'll also be magically traced. Should you resume your old career with the same wicked attitude, then you'll return here to serve time for the rest of your life."

.

Girl Talk... and Tears

Summer passed swiftly, and far too soon the departure of Luna and Ginny loomed close. On the last day of August, Mr and Mrs Lovegood had rushed out to buy last-minute items: trunks and robes and schoolbooks. Hermione found the two girls whispering alone in Luna's bedroom – breaking down into giggles when she came in.

"What are you two up to now?"

Ginny nudged Luna who said, "Tell us about... growing up."

Hermione laughed. "Luna, I can't believe _you_ of all people don't know the facts of life – all those animals you've observed."

Luna and Ginny looked at each other before Ginny asked rather shyly, "Yes, but humans are... different. Tell us about... boys and... you know..."

"You mean the romantic, emotional side of lovemaking, don't you?"

They nodded, and a new eagerness was in their eyes. So Hermione sat down with them and for the next hour or two she conveyed to them what they might expect – the perfections and imperfections, the give and take, and what care they should take to keep control of their own lives. Her guidance evolved into practical matters. Cosmetics and scents were conjured and she taught them how _not_ to apply them before demonstrating ways of enhancing their best features in ways suitable for young teens.

They shrieked with delight at their reflections in the dressing table mirror, strutting back and forth to catch a sideways glimpse of themselves.

"You're only ten but keep all this in mind for when you're a bit older," advised Hermione, feeling very much the big sister.

"But they grow up faster in France!" protested Ginny.

Luna said, "Yes, they wear lipstick in second-year! And... underthings!" She pointed at her chest.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but patiently conjured Muggle trainer bras and showed them how to slip them on and tweak them into position. Ginny said it felt like wearing a tiny vest and no way was she going to wear the silly things ever again even if she grew to be twice as big as her mum, but Luna asked for ones of every colour and size – 'so she could grow into them'.

It was a girly session and Hermione loved every minute. The experience had never occurred in her previous youth when she'd been obliged to seek out embarrassing books, or eavesdrop on Lavender Brown and the other girls in her dorm. Hermione cried that night, realising as never before, that she would not see her friends again as young girls – if at all.

On the day in question there were more tears, of course, but unexpectedly, it was Ron who was the most distressed. He'd never been without his little sister's company for more than a few hours – and that rarely. It was one thing for him to have left her behind when he went to Hogwarts, but for _her_ to leave _him_ produced a visible absence in their home that really hurt.

"You'll have to come over more often," said Harry to his melancholy friend. "You've not met Neville yet."

But through September, Ron could not be consoled. Hermione did what she could – though she was now intensely busy with her genetic research which had reached a significant phase. A chapter had closed in all their lives and each one knew that nothing would be the same ... ever again.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _There's a broken link to Pottermore on the wikia concerning the sentience of magical paintings. For me, it raises all sorts of moral questions to be able to create conscious life. I'd have thought there'd be a Gamp's law against playing God like that. I mean, you can't conjure food or valuables but you can create a living, conscious person trapped in a portrait? Nor can I think of a halfway house - they're either conscious or they're not. Anyway, in this story they are like interactive videos or computers – expressing genuine intelligence but not consciously aware so can't be hurt. However, I thought it would be fun to leave it slightly ambiguous with Hermione's statement 'you just think you are.'_ :D

 _I spoke about people transforming at the end of the last chapter. In this fic, clothes, handbags, wands, red-painted fingernails, and anything carried are all restored when reverting to human form – or in Rita's aborted transformation, just the handbag and her spectacles were restored before the process was halted._

 _In last week's reviews, Suzululu4moe, you raised a good point about the werewolves remembering Hermione's face. I confess I hadn't thought of that. But realistically they didn't see much of her face with the hood, and there were only a few survivors. The whole pack didn't turn out, that was just the sentries and Greyback. Still..._

 _Jhotenko, you indicated Rita is not as evil as dark wizards. My view is she does acts of lesser evil but far more of them. The sum total of the suffering she caused ought not to be underestimated. A professional bully, she is cruel, malicious, and no doubt would ruin lives, careers, businesses, drive people to suicide, and indirectly be responsible for injuries and murders inflicted by those who believe her. However, after reading your comments, I did reduce the life sentence I had planned for her to only 8 years and loss of magic to keep it in proportion to criminals like Greyback. The malformation, of course, was an accident. As for the legality of it – no, it's not, but Rita would singlehandedly have revealed much of Hermione's plans and they would fail. Many dark wizards would not be captured but would continue to torture and murder. And Magical/Muggle cooperation would never take place. Billions would die just as they did originally._

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	32. 0:Preparing For Hogwarts

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she formed the Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and seek cooperation between Muggles and Magicals. Rita Skeeter has been sent to Devil's Deep prison (but was accidentally physically deformed while being trapped.) Luna and Ginny have gone to Beauxbatons. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 32**

 **Preparing For Hogwarts**

* * *

.

Recruiting the Trusted

At Worthing Enterprises's lab research division, Halloween and Christmas passed before the main groundwork was completed. At long last, Hermione could leave the team to continue to develop, test, and complete without her. Several more years would be needed before they'd be able to submit their proposals to the Muggle authorities for approval, and even more years of official field testing before the healing method might be accepted for worldwide use.

It was not necessary for the magical community to wait that long. After the wizarding members of the research team presented St. Mungo's with data and equipment, their healers used magic to confirm the efficiency and reliability of the approach, and within months were applying the treatment in the form of rituals and potions – Mike being one of the first to benefit.

"Congratulations, everyone," Adam heard himself declaring in a kind of imaginary, unannounced final departure which somehow the lab staff would have expected, "Each of you has done wonderfully well, and your understanding is now as much as my own. Go forward together, Muggles and Magicals, for there is always more to learn that will benefit mankind."

But that clumsily-grand speech never actually happened. Instead, the big man slipped away unnoticed through a backdoor as he did on any other workday. Perhaps Obliviation was also used, but if so, it was tenuous, and more of a 'soon-forget-me' enchantment.

Hermione kept herself well away from the publicity, and even Adam Brown's name was lost to history. _Worthing_ was the name added to the illustrious list that included Fleming, Freud, and Florence Nightingale as having made great advances in the promotion of world health. The reborn child would have it no other way. The aggrandisement of any of the names, Worthing, Gair, and Crouch, could do naught but promote her plans, and anyway, her interests lay elsewhere, far from personal prestige.

Yes, now she had more time to focus on other essentials. Hermione was missing the girls, and no matter how much she liked the boys, well, it just wasn't the same. Still perhaps she could begin to repair the damage done to Neville. In her mind's eye, she continued to perceive him as a hardened resistance fighter. There was steel in his veins and somehow she had to resolve his problem with girls so his toughness could express more fully. At least he and Ron had now met and, according to Harry, were getting along well – but Ron was not a girl. Perhaps if she introduced him to Hannah, it might help? They'd been very much in love in his former life; surely she'd evoke a positive reaction in him this time too? Or were they still too young?

Sitting at her desk, Hermione began writing a message to Hannah, then tore it up and threw it away; this needed a more indirect approach. Perhaps Neville would feel more comfortable losing himself in a bigger group of mostly boys? Yes, she'd always planned to expand, to form an outer circle of companions as they had in Dumbledore's Army, and it would be better not to leave it until they had started at Hogwarts.

First, she considered Justin Finch-Fletchley because he was a Muggle-born like herself, but for that very reason she dare not write too early in case he did not yet even know he was magical. But he ought to be informed in order to prepare...

 _Dear Justin Finch-Fletchley,_

 _A few of us youngsters who are 'specially gifted' like yourself have formed a small, mutual-support group to prepare for secondary school later this year. We exchange ideas and information and practise what we learn from each other. In this way, we hope to get a head start when term begins in the autumn._

 _If interested, please contact me (see header) for further information and to answer any questions you might have._

 _Yours sincerely,  
Hermione Granger_

The Grangers' phone number was added at the top without any label so those who knew what it was might use it. Satisfied that the words were neither too explicit nor too vague for a Muggle-raised child, and that delivery by owl would not be too shocking even if any of them knew nothing of magic yet, she wrote more letters to those she knew had been the most reliable supporters in her previous life – Ernie, Susan, Hannah, and others – then sent them all off with Farrimond before lunch.

.

Black Watch

Several days passed without any reply from the old D.A. members. In a way, Hermione was glad; it probably meant they had discussed it with their parents and were reluctant to rush blindly into an unknown situation. While waiting, she discussed her hit list with Aculus, who, having been deprived of much to do in the last few months, agreed to begin an extensive search. They knew it was a long shot. Yes, he'd found Mike Worthing, but despite the concealment of his home, Mike was a public figure; Aculus now had to locate those who lived on the dark side. Hermione showed him old newspaper photos and discussed their habits and attitudes, but otherwise, there was little to go on. Aculus also accepted being posted near the shop in Knockturn Alley – the address obtained from Alecto Carrow.

Hermione explained, "There are already two of Mike's security men who've been staking out the place for months without result. That's so tedious; I'm sure their attention must be flagging."

"My resolve shall not tire," declared Aculus proudly, as he winged away on his new tasks.

"I know it won't," Hermione murmured as her familiar faded from sight.

.

First Replies

Susan Bones was one of the first to reply to Hermione's invitations. two owls arrived almost together one afternoon, and Mrs Granger let them in the kitchen window.

"Hermione! Owls!"

"I see them!" Hermione squealed down the stairs. "On my way."

Mrs Granger was feeding the birds with a few treats when Hermione bounded into the room.

"Who are they from?"

Her mother gestured to tied scrolls laying on the kitchen table next to a steaming cup of tea. Hermione took a big slurp before eagerly tearing open the first letter and reading it.

"It's from Susan! Her Aunt contacted Minerva to check I was on their list. I bet they had an interesting Floo chat about me!

"And is she...?"

"A few questions, but yes, she's agreed to meet."

The letterbox rattled in the hall and mother and daughter looked at one another. Mrs Granger strode off to see. "I'll get it."

Hermione untied the other scroll. It was from Ernie McMillan who was also interested in possibly joining.

"Typed address..." said Mrs Granger as she came back into the kitchen and handed a smart envelope to Hermione

"Ah, I bet I know who this is from..." said Hermione. With eager fingers she ripped it open and began to read aloud:

" _Dear Miss Granger_

" _While I applaud the initiative to progress your education by forming a support group, I must inform you that my son, Justin, will be attending an exclusive, boys-only school this autumn. I am therefore, somewhat puzzled by the phrasing of your letter, and what connection led you to write to him in particular._

" _However, at his insistence, I ask you for further clarification and how you presume to know anything of his talent. In normal circumstances, I would treat your message as unsolicited advertising, however, your expensive and unusual delivery method suggests otherwise and piques my curiosity._

 _Yours sincerely,  
H. Finch-Fletchley CH, Kt., FBA_

Hermione was silent for a while.

"What... uumm... does that mean...?" said Mrs Granger, unable to restrain herself any longer.

"Hmm...? Oh, the Finch-Fletchleys are Muggles like you and Dad. They don't know – none of them know yet that Justin's a wizard."

"Be a nice surprise, I shouldn't wonder."

"Well, don't you see? It's all wrong. All the Hogwarts letters only go out in the summer not long before starting. It's ridiculous. Muggle-raised children have only a few weeks to learn anything at all! I remember Minerva brought mine. I had one frantic day buying books and things with her then only five weeks on our own trying to assimilate what it even means to be magical!"

Mrs Granger smiled at her daughter's fiery criticism. "Perhaps one day somebody will change the system..."

Hermione looked up, saw her mother's expression, and her own face softened into a wry grin. "Yes, perhaps they will... starting right now!"

She summoned quill and parchment and wrote a reply including broad hints about any peculiar events that might have happened around Justin at emotional moments, and that she would explain how to control them.

"There! That's bound to strike a chord and arouse their interest."

"What about the Secrecy thing?"

"That only applies to Muggles without any magical family. Parents of magicals like yourself have to be told."

Two days passed before another letter came through the door, handwritten in ballpoint pen, Hermione noticed. She read it quietly to herself at her desk upstairs:

 _Dear Miss Granger_

 _I apologise for the delay in replying but I needed to give much thought to your offer._

 _My daughter Hannah was surprised and delighted by your owl, but immensely puzzled by your message. I must explain. My wife is a Muggle and only vaguely aware of my own abilities which have remained largely unused for many years. The Abbotts are a long-standing Pure-blood family and I knew the criticism we would suffer from certain quarters because I married a non-magical. So it was, I decided to delay informing Hannah about magic until she showed signs of it herself. When those indications came, I confess I kept putting off the inevitable – why, I do not know. Perhaps I was afraid or possibly leaving it for Hogwarts to inform her where I'd lost my nerve._

 _However, your letter has redirected my thinking. The telephone number suggests you might be Muggle-born, or at least, have Muggle sympathies. You could, therefore, be the ideal person to introduce her to magic, especially since you are the same age. If you feel you are able to do so with sufficient care for her feelings, then please arrange a meeting at your earliest convenience._

 _Sincerely,  
Sam Abbott_

Hermione gazed down at the words laid before her. Mr Abbott was right to be cautious. In her previous life, his wife had been murdered by Death Eaters during Hannah's sixth year at Hogwarts. In time, Hannah would need advising how to set up warning spells at their home and an escape route that did not rely on magic that could be blocked. If only they – and others like the Potters – had prepared a long underground racing broom passage to a place where they could have Disapparated...

.

An Introduction to the Impossible

Nervously, Hermione stood with Harry before the Floo fireplace at twelve Grimmauld Place.

"And you're sure Neville doesn't mind us having the first meeting at his home? And you told him about–?"

Harry rolled his eyes and his head from side to side. "For the tiddly-umptieth time, yes! And the house elf will keep out of sight so it doesn't scare the Muggle-raised who'll be arriving. ... But Neville doesn't know there'll be girls coming though," he added with a smirk.

"But he realises _I'll_ be there?"

"Course he does. But I gave him the impression there'll be lots of us, and he knows you mostly talk to me, so I think your idea of losing himself in a crowd appealed to him."

"A crowd! There'll only be..." she broke off to count in her head. "There'll be eight altogether, but that includes me and the two girls and Neville himself"

"So that's nearly a crowd. I mean, he's not going to count them is he? And before you ask, yes, you can speak to Hannah and Justin separately at the start."

Hermione frowned uncertainly. "And Neville's parents are at work?"

"Yes, and his gran has said we can use the old kitchen in the basement. I've been in and it's big! She'll keep out of the way."

"And she approves of what we're doing?"

"Yes, pre-school studies and support like you told me to say. She's eager for Neville to mix more, and impressed with how much he's advanced already."

"Good. Good. Madam Gawtley is amazing."

"Nan? Are you a bit scatty this morning, Hermione?" grinned Harry. "It's YOU that's made the biggest change in his life."

"Me? All I taught him was a few simple spells and made him a nervous wreck."

"You brought out his magic, Hermione, don't forget that. And gave him a trainer wand to practise with."

"Mmm... yes, we'll all be getting our true wands this summer so then we can really push ahead with first-year spells."

Harry held up the watch on his wrist to remind her of the time.

"Right," said Hermione, "you first."

"Scaredy-cat," said Harry, grabbing a handful of Floo power from the urn at the side of the fireplace.

She watched him vanish in the green flames, took a deep breath, then followed him.

Ron was already present at the Longbottoms, and, with Neville, becoming increasingly anxious until Harry arrived. Hermione nodded with measured but genuine enthusiasm at Neville and thanked him for allowing them to meet at his home. She kept her attitude low-key so as not to appear too bossy, but would he now think she was being stand-offish? _Boys!_ It would take ten lifetimes to get to understand them!

She was still wondering, when Ernie then Susan came through in quick succession. Neville blinked a couple of times as he and Susan recognised each other, apparently they had met briefly at a family gathering once before. The others hadn't even time to introduce themselves before the knocker on the front door sounded rather heavily and Neville cocked his head on one side listening to his gran's voice as she greeted the additional visitors.

"They're in the drawing room through there..." they heard her say far off.

"They're early! Quickly, the rest of you," said Neville, "we're going down to the meeting room while Hermione talks to the next lot." He ushered them out the far door. "I'll explain when we..." His voiced faded from hearing as he departed, leaving Hermione alone.

The near door opened and a blonde girl with pigtails walked timidly in followed by a tall youth. Both were wearing Muggle clothes: Justin in a smart grey suit, Hannah in sweater, skirt, and open coat.

"Ah," said Justin, seeing Hermione and striding forward with his hand outstretched. "Justin Finch-Fletchley, and this is Hannah Abbott. We were the only two passengers to get off at the train station so we walked down together. We're both frightfully curious about what you're planning."

Hannah nodded, happy for Justin to do the talking.

Hermione gulped. The last time she'd seen Hannah's face it had been detached from her body. She stiffened her shoulders and began. "Pleased to meet you both at last. I'm Hermione Granger. Would you both take a seat on the sofa where I can inform you together of something very important."

She sat down before them, thinking back to the few times she'd performed this same function as stand-in deputy headmistress. How would it sound coming from an eleven-year-old child? At least she knew how Muggles think...

"Now you both must have had strange experiences you couldn't explain?"

Justin nodded excitedly. "Yes, I've been thinking a lot about your second letter. It's psi, isn't it? I've got some kind of psychic power? I saw something move once. A tennis ball had been accidentally hit over the neighbour's fence and I'd been told never to climb over but to go round to their front door and ask. Anyway..." He studied Hermione's expression for a few moments, then, satisfied she wasn't looking upon his outpouring as if he were a crazy person, he continued more soberly, "Anyway, the tennis ball came back to me. Mother said someone threw it back, but I knew they couldn't have. And on another occasion, I was climbing and got in a fix. I fell – over twenty feet without a scratch because I floated down. I know I did. Nobody believed I even fell."

Hermione gave a nod but Hannah was looking at Justin rather oddly. She had become rather pale and was wringing her hands in her lap. "Lights," she said finally. "I was scared of the dark so something made... lights." She hung her head.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Hannah."

"But you can stop it? You know how to stop these things?"

"Yes. And start and control them, so you only get lights when you want. May I show you?"

Justin leaned forward expectantly and Hannah's mouth fell open. She said, "You can do it too? As you choose?"

Hermione cupped her hands and lifted up a few colours – not too bright as to dazzle. As the spheres of radiance rose into the air, there was silence from both the visitors. Then Hannah began to cry. "It's not just me then? I'm not... weird?"

"No, there are many of us with these abilities. A large community. Obviously we have to keep it secret."

"But how's it done?" said Justin. "You can do that at will? Whenever you like? How often does it happen? Why doesn't everyone know about this?"

Hermione cast up many more lights then summoned a footstool from across the room. As it hovered nearer, Justin got to his feet and began moving his arms above and below the stool, feeling for wires or other support. "I confess I'm... astonished!"

"So, you two want to learn more?"

"Most certainly!" said Justin.

Hannah murmured in what Hermione felt was a positive tone, so she continued, "It's not science but it does have its own rules..." She wondered how best to introduce the word 'magic' so brought out her wand instead.

"Tell me you're joking!" cried Justin.

There was a low table against the sofa on Justin's side. Hermione pointed at it with her wand and conjured a large vase full of red roses. Immediately their nostrils were assailed with the rich fragrance. Conscious they might see flowers as a stage magician's trick, she raised her wand and straightaway a shower of rain fell from the ceiling but became stationary just above their heads.

For a few seconds they both gaped in astonishment then Justin reached upwards to scoop droplets of water on his hand. "That's plain impossible. Simply impossible."

Hannah stood up, feeling the wetness upon her face. Her smile glistened. "It's real water... it's all real..."

"Yes," said Hermione, "and astonishing as it might appear, it's a normal way of life for many of us." She conjured a glass of water and began to casually sip it.

"You can make anything?" said Justin.

"Not food or valuables, but magic can be put to work to earn those things just as science and technology can. It seems there is a natural balance in both wisdoms."

"Show us how we can do this too," he said. "We can, can't we?"

"Yes, that is why you are here. You're a wizard, Justin. And you, Hannah, are a witch, as am I." She ignored their gasps and ploughed on. "Many were born into magical families where enchantments were everyday events during their upbringing. But you and I, Justin, we were born of non-magical folk – what we call 'Muggles'. We Muggle-borns have some catching up to do."

Hannah had sat down again, and was looking slightly puzzled.

"You, Hannah, are born of one magical and one non-magical parent. Can you guess which is which?"

Hannah gasped. "Dad! There was something... the way he talked... and things he did out of sight like mending my bike so fast..." A wistful expression crossed her face. "But why didn't he...?"

"Tell you?" Hermione went on to explain how Muggles were regarded by some wizards, and briefly informed them of the magical community as well as Hogwarts.

"And we can go to this school in September?" said Justin.

"If you so choose. Justin, I know your name is down for Eton, but you have also been down for Hogwarts since you were born – we all have. In July we'll receive a letter of acceptance. Justin, because you and I are known to be Muggle-borns, the letter will be delivered by a member of staff who will explain about magic. Hannah, because your father is magical, it will have been assumed you already know, so the letter will arrive by owl. In my view it's too little and too late, which is one reason I started this group to support you."

"Bravo!" cried Justin. "I agree completely."

"Thank you," Hannah said softly.

Hermione stood up and gestured to the far door. "There are five others waiting for us in the meeting room. I hope we're all going to be firm friends!"

.

The New Army

The only signs that the basement had ever been a kitchen was the long range against the wall, and a few capped-off water pipes that now led nowhere. Two long trestle tables stood in the middle of the room, grey and worn; perhaps they too had been used in preparing food long ago. Seated against the side of the one closest to the great fire blazing in the hearth were the other children. They'd been chatting animatedly until the door opened; now they looked up.

"Hello, everyone," Hermione said briskly as she took the seat at the head of the table and gestured Justin and Hannah to sit alongside. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbott who, I'm sure Harry's told you, are both Muggle-raised. They have only just heard of magic for the first time a few minutes ago, so please give that consideration when we begin discussions."

She stood up to point out the others. "Hannah, Justin, from left to right that's Ernie McMillan, Susan Bones, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter who's famous – for being a prat most of the time." Harry grinned amidst the laughter.

Opening up her beaded bag she pulled out some trainer wands. "These are not adult wands – you'll not be getting those until summer – but they'll help you learn the basics. Can you pass those along to Susan and Ernie, please?" The other two she handed to Justin and Hannah. There were a few rattle and taps, fizzes, sparks, as well as excited mutterings before everyone settled down again.

"Those beginner wands are limited for safety but legal for youngsters so you can practise with us and at home. Now, Ron, Neville, and Harry are all extraordinary wizards who will be helping me teach you spells for ordinary every use, as well as prepare you for Hogwarts."

Ron and Neville's eyebrows lifted and they straightened up in their chairs; Harry just grinned and deliberately let his wand slip from his grasp so it rolled off the table onto the floor. "Oops..."

Hermione rolled her eyes as he scrabbled for it as clumsily as possible.

"Now, discretion is important, and sometimes secrecy, so–"

"Secrecy? Why?" said Susan. Justin also was about to raise his hand.

"Tell them, Harry."

"Eh? What...?" Harry had just surfaced and was clambering back onto his chair. "Oh yeah, erm... It's because..."

Hermione rescued him. "The reason is that, believe it or not, there are those that will object and oppose to what we're doing, so by remaining low key, we attract less attention. The magical community are extremely conservative, tradition is revered and progress is often frowned upon. They do not understand to what extent Muggle society – that's non-magical people –" she added to remind Justin and Hannah, "is advancing, some say too quickly, while wizards fall further behind. Currently, the magical world is kept hidden from Muggles, and with good reason: there would be conflict. Similarly, as our group advances in scope, traditionalists might hamper our efforts."

"Does the group have a name?" said Hannah, and Hermione was pleased to see she was taking notes.

"Not yet. I've been trying to invent something suitable but not so far. Any suggestions? ... Ron, didn't you say you'd been thinking about one?"

"Uuh, yeah," said Ron, fingering his collar rather awkwardly. "How about 'Shield' maybe?" He danced a finger through the air to spell out, "Self ... Help ... In ... Extra ... Lessons ... & Defence."

"Defence? Is this to be a military group? A political movement?" frowned Justin.

"Not directly, and no one will ever be told what they must believe in. You are all free to attend, to learn, and to support as much or as little as you wish. Lessons are on offer where you can learn how to defend yourself."

"Against what?" Hannah said nervously.

"Dark magic..." said Susan. "That's it, isn't it?"

A nod from Hermione confirmed Susan's claim, but she regretted Hannah hearing of it so soon, and tried to tone it down. "As in every society, there are a few people who are rude and unpleasant so we block or avoid them. Hogwarts itself has lessons on this but we believe in additional care. You won't be on your own; more will join us and support you."

From her bag she took several Galleons which she handed around and explained how to summon help with a touch of a wand tip, and how meetings would be indicated on the edge. Looking at everyone's faces, the meeting seemed to be going well so far. Even Neville looked more relaxed within the larger group.

An idea occurred to Hermione. "We'll talk more later. Let's have fun and do some wand work now and bring out the magic of those who've not yet practised it." She stood up and with a flick of her wand, pushed the spare trestle table against the wall to leave space in the centre of the room.

"Ron, would you show Ernie how to cast lights, please? Oh, and a mild tickling spell too for our amusement. Relax, everyone, you're all magical and cannot fail to express it."

They all rose and walked around the table together. While Ron began explaining the wand movements to Ernie, Hermione took Justin to Neville. "Will you teach Justin please, Neville?"

To Hermione's surprise, he simply nodded and began talking to Justin. Clearly, Neville wasn't the same nervous boy she'd known in Hogwarts first year in her former life; it was only girls he was somewhat cautious of.

With a gesture at Harry to follow her, she led him aside and whispered, "Keep out of it for now, Harry. I want to try something."

Once Neville was occupied, Hermione asked Hannah to move nearby and observe. "You can try the movements he's showing Justin. When you get a chance, ask Neville if you're doing it right before you cast the spell. No hurry."

She left them to it and went over to Susan and told her the same but with Ron.

"There..." she said, after rejoining Harry. "You and me move in and practise and demonstrate with some tiny lights, soft crackles and fizzes. Keep the room busy so there are no awkward silences around Neville so he doesn't have time to think, and he should be fine. And talk and giggle, Harry, we want a lighthearted atmosphere."

Harry looked doubtful but he did as asked, both glancing around at the others as they did so.

Susan was the first to cast the Lumos spell correctly, and that encouraged the others. Soon all were producing lights, and the excited chatter, squeals, and laughter, indicated tickling spells were also being used.

The rest of the day went well, though Hermione had to smile at herself for hoping the ten-year-old Neville would instantly recognise his eternal soul mate in Hannah. At least he wasn't running away from her, and he seemed uplifted after being of use – as was Ron. The red-haired boy seemed to thrive and, becoming aware that he'd more magical knowledge than the newcomers, ladled it out more than generously to anyone within earshot.

"Yes, well, of course, it takes time to get proficient like us, so don't feel too badly," he'd grandly say, or, "Probably just as well I'm only allowed a trainer wand or you'd be dazzled."

When it was time to depart, Hermione provided some goblin money for Justin and Hannah, then showed them how to summon the Knight Bus. The first meeting had gone very well. More recruits were expected soon, more meetings, and the summer promised the interest of Hogwarts letters and shopping in Diagon Alley.

Hermione nodded in satisfaction that night. Preparations for Hogwarts were going well, a new kind of justice was being established, and the promise of political cleansing was brighter than ever in the history of magic, and perhaps the world. The first part of her new life was complete. But as she dozed there, awaiting sleep's full release, it seemed the weight of centuries descended upon her. Would she be up to the new challenges that lay ahead? A lone step in the wrong direction might divert the world into its awful destruction – she'd already witnessed the reality of it. What choices would she have to make? And what of Harry? What of the one person she cared for more than all? Would her protection be enough? Only time would tell.

.

End of Book 0

.

.

Afterwords...

Within the shadow of an old shop doorway, a cowled figure took shelter from the torrential London rain. Occasionally the man appeared to brace himself to dash to the rusted bus shelter further along the road, but each time he stopped himself, patted his soaked robes as if to doubt he was suitably dressed for the sprint, then squeezed himself as far back into the niche as was possible. The lights of vehicles swishing by never quite captured the features concealed beneath the angled hood before blackness covered him once more.

What kept him there for over an hour in such miserable conditions? For if ever a man was of two minds whether to stay or leave, it was Rodney Dunn. Certain he was of his location, for he had tailed a witch here months before. Less sure was he of the powerful inclination to leave that nagged his thoughts constantly.

"Coming out or going in, dearie?" chirped the shorter woman of two who had stopped before him.

"Waiting for someone," answered Dunn, with the faintest trace of hope in his tone.

"Might as well wait inside then, don't you think?"

The newcomers pushed by him through the door and he quickly took hold of the sleeve of one as if to steady himself. He let himself be drawn into warmth, smoky gloom, and beery odours: it was a pub. This was more a private eye's kind of territory; he headed straight for the barman.

"What'll it be?"

"Uuh..." Dunn's eyes fell on a bottle label. "Whiskey."

While Tom, the barman, poured, Dunn said, "Seen anything of Rita Skeeter recently?"

Tom frowned. "Out of town, I think. You'd best ask at the Prophet offices."

"Right... uumm...?"

"Diagon Alley, of course! Where you from?"

Dunn knew better than to ask where Diagon Alley was in case it was common knowledge among wizards. He took a long slug of his drink to give him a few seconds to think. The smoke from his nostrils made Dunn's eyes water, and his voice used only tiny gasps from his lungs. "Yes, but which end? I don't..." He swallowed fire for a few moments before continuing. "...get into town much these days."

"Gladys'll be walking that way in a few minutes. Hey, Glad!"

An old woman nursing a glass of port looked across.

"Would you point this gentlemen towards the Prophet Building when you leave?"

Her wrinkled face frowned as she sized up Dunn, then she quickly finished her drink and slid the empty glass forward on her table.

Dunn turned back to Tom. "Give her another."

Tom nodded, sloshed more wine into a fresh glass and took it over. He whispered something to the old lady and she laughed hoarsely with a loud belch somewhere in the middle.

Gladys took her time supping, still evaluating the stranger at the bar. When she finally rose unsteadily to her feet, Dunn paid up in Muggle money and Tom accepted it without comment; he was used to folk coming in off the Charing Cross Road.

The glass of port bought him little more than entry into Diagon Alley, and a gesture in the right direction, but it was enough. The newspaper offices were smaller than expected. Dunn had no trouble speaking to a sub-editor: Madam Strike.

"Rita? She's away on a special assignment." The woman frowned to herself and her voice lowered. "Been gone quite some time actually..."

"Where?"

Strike gave a dry laugh. "Who knows? Said it was something really big."

"Can you get a message to her? It's urgent."

With a shake of her head, the woman said, "Not possible. She works alone and–"

Dunn had had enough. He was still cold and wet and becoming hungrier by the minute. "Oh for heaven's sake! Listen, when you _do_ see her, tell her I want proof or no deal! I want the same evidence I gave her before: hair! And you can tell her this as well, if I don't hear from her soon then all bets are off! I don't want to ever see her again, understand? Tell her Rodney Dunn said so!"

.

Far, far away, a grotesque creature stirred restlessly in the gloom. Primeval instinct drew it to the darkest corner of its stony den, and there it paused. After a few moments the beast moved on, cackling softly to itself. Behind it, illuminated by the remotest glimmer of illumination, a tiny egg glistened wetly.

.

To be continued...

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—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Just a reminder that this fic will continue into Book 1 within a week or three. That is, Book 1 won't be a separate fic but will add onto this one starting at Chapter 33, and, as with the original books, it will begin in the summer holidays then proceed to Hogwarts year 1. Meanwhile, I've published another short, 3-chapter fic to bridge the short gap. It's a fun, Harry/Hermione fic called Harry Potter and the Game of his Life!_

 _Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	33. 1:Shopping Early

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she formed the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption, elevate justice, and seek cooperation between Muggles and Magicals. Now the youngsters are close to starting at Hogwarts, she has contacted the most trusted members of the old D.A. to form a new study/defence group – but Luna and Ginny have gone to Beauxbatons. Now read on..._

.

 **Book 1: Hermione Granger and The Worst of Three Devils**

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 **Chapter 33**

 **Shopping Early**

* * *

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Gaining Trust

While England simmered in the early July sun, the Longbottoms' basement was pleasantly cool and quiet as a group of very special youngsters were drawn together for serious discussion.

"Thank you all for coming," began Hermione, as she took her seat at the head of the rough trestle table. "For you newcomers, my name is Hermione Granger. This is a significant meeting of our society because although others will join us, you twelve are now, and will remain, the most trusted."

For a few moments she paused while a stir, an almost silent movement, flickered across the gathering, then she continued. "You are probably wondering about the reason for such confidence, and I must ask you not to reveal my answer to anyone outside of those present here, not mother, father, not... not even your twin sister, Padma."

The mouth of the girl in question formed an unspoken _how...?_ but Hermione quickly added, "I know something about all of you. How? Magic has revealed to me a few insights about future events – no, I am not a prophet – but this ability often helps me judge better what the outcome of our endeavours may be with different degrees of certainty. But please do not speak of this without being sure you cannot be overheard. I'm not asking for an oath. In my heart I already know I can rely on you."

"Not wishing to be rude but..." Susan Bones began. "Erm... _Why_ do you trust us? And how can we uuh...?"

"Trust me? I shall be speaking to each one of you, some singly, some in groups, but as a general evidence of an imminent event: the Russian-dominated Eurasian Union of Magic is breaking up and–"

A snort from Michael Corner drew her attention. He shook his head. "Sorry, but that's common news in the Prophet!"

"Yes, but what's _not_ in the Prophet – because it has not even been decided yet – is that on the twentieth of August, the Sovereign Order of Rasputin will be reinstated in Russia. Other ex-members of the Union will reform their own state organisations. That will be in the evening edition of the Prophet on that date. Do not discuss it with anyone else but you twelve until then."

That raised a few eyebrows. Hannah and Justin wrote it down, and explained to Dean Thomas what the Daily Prophet was.

"Wait... there are only eleven of us," chipped in Ernie, raising his hand as he did so.

"Ron's not here today, Hermione, remember?" said Harry.

Hermione nodded. "Thanks, Harry. Yes, the Weasley family are holidaying in France this summer, so Ron Weasley can't be with us today."

Hannah frowned. "But, Hermione, with you, that's thirteen altogether."

"That's correct."

"But..."

Hermione smiled. "Thirteen is not unlucky – that's just a Muggle superstition."

Hannah nodded uncertainly to herself but wrote it down.

Hermione continued, "Most of you know of Harry Potter. He is the official leader of this group. His judgement is often more instinctively reliable than mine, so he has the last say. As his second-in-command, I only have charge of those things I know about. I'll now be speaking briefly with you individually. Harry, would you take over?"

Clearly Harry had been expecting this, for he rose to his feet and began discussing the group's name which Ron had previously suggested. Hermione gestured for Padma to sit with her at another table for a few minutes.

Hermione moved her chair very close to Padma's and studied the girl's expression. "You might be wondering why I didn't invite your sister at the same time as you? What did you tell her when you got my letter?"

Padma nodded. "What you said, that she and others will be asked later as you get more organised."

"The true reason is that not everyone can know about my perceptions. Listen, Padma, you can scarcely imagine how much I respect and trust Parvati, but her nature is not as serious as yours. While you will never fail in your determination to keep my secret, she might accidentally let something slip – you know I'm right."

Padma's eyes whitened in surprise. "You sound as if you know her!"

"Perhaps nothing is absolutely certain but I see what is very probable – sometimes so likely that I cannot conceive of it any other way. So now I must tell you something that I know will hurt for a while..."

Padma bit her lip expectantly, and her eyes shone as Hermione continued, "Parvati is a real fighter and has a very courageous heart. She will be sorted into Gryffindor. You are also brave but your knowledge and intelligence will get you sorted into Ravenclaw."

"We'll be separated?" said Padma tremulously.

"You'll share some classes and can sit together at mealtimes. You can also be together out of class in reading rooms and so on, and even invite each other to your common rooms, but yes, you will be apart much of the time."

"That's alright, we need our own space," said Padma resolutely.

"No, it's not alright, is it...?" Hermione knew what was coming – remembered how Padma had tried to hide her shock at the original Sorting ceremony, and how she herself had been too absorbed in her own school prospects to even consider comforting a stranger. She had not even offered solace to Parvati as Hermione lay that night contemplating when they'd get their schedules while only half-listening in an annoyed sort of way to the girl crying. Now she leaned forward to hug Padma as tears flowed.

"W-we've always b-been together," Padma softly blubbered into Hermione's shoulder.

"I know... I know..."

Hermione could hear Harry – who she had prepared – talking through the hush that had fallen on the main group by the distraction. " _So, we'll be taking a vote in a bit but if anyone–"_

"Padma, you and Parvati will adjust quickly. Over the next few days the hurt will diminish as you adjust and mature, I promise. I want to see you two happy when the Sorting Hat calls out your houses."

Padma pulled back a little to smile wanly. "Thank you, Hermione."

"Anytime. I know you'd do the same for me."

Hermione's certainty was curious to hear, and Padma looked at her strangely. She couldn't know that she _had_ comforted Hermione when even the brave Gryffindor had collapsed with her burden of grief at Harry's funeral.

As Padma went to rejoin the others, Hermione said, "Can you ask Dean to see me next, please, Padma?"

Harry knew what they'd rehearsed. "Are you ready to cast your vote first, Dean? Yay or Nay for the name SHIELD?"

"Yay of course," grinned Dean.

His smile disappeared as he sat down with Hermione and saw her sad expression. "What?"

"You're not a Muggle-born, Dean."

He paused briefly to absorb that. "How do you know for sure? I've already told you Mum suspected Dad might be magical when I began displaying accidental shapes and sounds out of nowhere."

When Hermione did not answer immediately, his mouth opened wide. "You've found him? You know where he is? Mum will kill him for running out on us."

She shook her bushy head. "I'm so sorry, Dean, it's too late for that."

Dean stared at her for a few moments then his shoulders sagged in disappointment. "He's dead isn't he? Mum always said he'd waste his life away."

Hermione shook her head. "No, Dean, your dad was a hero. He left to protect you all from dark wizards who hate Muggles, especially if they marry magicals. They gave him an ultimatum: join them and condemn his family – or die. He refused. They murdered him."

Dean fell silent, his eyes fixed on Hermione. "You're certain about this?"

"In years to come there'll be a confession. I've seen it. Call it a vision. If you want payback, you've plenty of time to prepare – Goodness knows you have courage enough, which reminds me, you'll be in the same house at Hogwarts as your father – Gryffindor."

A frown emphasised Dean's doubt. "You've seen that too?"

"Yes. Don't tell your mother yet about your father. When you and everyone here is sorted as I've foretold, then, perhaps, you will believe and can tell your mother. It might bring her some comfort."

For the next half hour, Hermione informed each member of the house they would be sorted into. One or two reserved judgement but most of them appeared to believe her. She herself knew that their character and capabilities could not have changed from her previous life – their Sorting could not be otherwise.

Once they were all back at the main table, Harry told her, "We're tied: half for 'Shield', and half for 'Crest'."

"Some of us think 'Shield' is a bit wishy-washy," said Anthony.

Hermione voiced the new name again to consider it. "'Crest'? What's that stand for?"

"Erm... nothing, it's uuh... just a cool name," said Harry.

"Who thought it up?"

"Neville."

All eyes fixed on the boy who was suddenly struggling not to look away.

Hermione said, "Well, yes, a shield is something to hide behind and kind of negative whereas a crest is a sort of banner and a high point. There's a sense of forceful pride in it which is good. I like it."

Susan said, "Can I change my vote to Crest? I only voted for Shield because that was the only name on offer to begin with."

Others murmured their support.

Harry said, "Right, let's go with 'Crest'. Any objections?"

There were none.

Hermione said, "Remember, we're essentially a study group providing support for every one of us – and that's how others should see us. More than that, we're preparing ourselves for the tough world we live in. As with Muggle schools, many of Hogwarts subjects are too specialised and you'll forget most of what you were taught when you start your careers. I mean, how many of us will need detailed knowledge of potions, history, astronomy, runes, and so on? It's everyday life skills such as charms and defence we need to learn at this stage, then we can be more selective later when we've chosen our careers. So Crest will help bridge the gap and improve our prospects. There may be difficulties but we'll face them together."

"Well said!" Justin chipped in. "As a matter of interest, what house will you be in, Hermione? Ravenclaw?"

Attention focused on Hermione. She laughed. "Never! I can positively guarantee I'll be in Gryffindor. You have my word on that."

Harry continued, "Right, everyone, in two or three weeks we'll all be getting our Hogwarts acceptance letters which has got a list of items we need, including – ta-dah! – our adult wands! But many of us know this stuff from our parents so why wait? We could all go together say, tomorrow? Day after?"

The weekend was finally agreed for the joint visit and the meeting finished off with trainer wand practice. There were not quite enough to go round so they had to share, but in a few days from then, that would no longer matter.

.

Another Burglary

A man robed entirely in black crept silently down rickety wooden steps in almost velvety darkness. The only visible sign of the stealthy intruder's presence was the faint glimmer of a tiny Muggle penlight clamped between his polished white teeth. He led the way unerringly along a stone passage, then, without a sound, he signalled to his short accomplice to examine the dusty grey board under a broken cabinet.

"Oh, Dad, do you have to be so melodramatic?" Hermione Granger crouched down and took out her wand.

"Hush, you still have much to learn, my young apprentice," growled Mr Granger with a theatrical wave of his arm, "the Force is strong with this erm... wooden plank."

"You're sure this is where Pilf was? Where was I then?"

"Yes," said Mr Granger. "You'd just ran back to the junior wand section. Pilf's hand started to reach down there, then pulled back when I said no."

"Well, you're right about the Force," said Hermione. "There are definitely enchantments here."

She found a couple of finger holes at one end of the board and pulled it away. Dull grey metal rings spilled out of a small cloth bag, glittering faintly in the torchlight.

"Wow?" said Mr Granger, sarcastically voicing his disappointment. "I thought they'd be gold at least."

Hermione smiled in the darkness. "Dad, it's not the metal but the magic in them that's rare. Now that Pilf is out of business, we may be looking at the only stock of anti-trace rings in the entire country. There's not much demand for them you see, except among Muggle-raised children, and they don't usually even know about them. It's a really clever charm actually – I don't know anyone who could fake a wizard's magical aura."

"A what? I thought the rings _hid_ the underage magic?"

"No, the charm gives an impression that an adult magical person is close. The Ministry's anti-trace spell disregards underage magic if it detects a grownup witch or wizard nearby to supervise, otherwise it would be alerting Ministry staff thousands of times a day. It's so kids can practise magic with a tutor or at home if their parents are there."

"I see... Still wish they were gold. You can never have enough gold."

"Actually, that's not a bad idea..." said Hermione.

She looked up to see her dad grinning at her. He said, "I was joking."

"No, look..." and with a wave of her wand the dull rings were transformed into shiny Galleon coins.

"You can conjure gold?" cried Mr Granger. "Then why have we been melting down goblin gold all this time? All these trips to Gringotts?"

"Not conjured – Transfigured. It's fake, Dad. The goblins would spot these a mile off."

"You disappoint me, my young apprentice. I was hoping for a new lightsaber at least..." Mr Granger swished his penlight theatrically at the empty niche as he kneeled down and rummaged hopefully for treasure.

Hermione giggled. "But that's the problem with the rings: if a kid puts one on his wand then it might get noticed. No, I'll hand out a few of these coins to Crest members and they can keep them in their pockets; they don't need to be actually attached to a wand. Come on, Dad." She headed for the stairs back up to the shop.

She paused halfway. "Even better, I can include the Protean Charm so the same coin can be our message system too. Have I won your approval, Jedi Master?"

The silence triggered Hermione to spin around with her wand out. "Dad? Dad?"

She ran back the dozen steps she'd taken. "What have you got there, Dad?"

"Just a few papers stuffed at the back of the nook under the cabinet. Seem to be business accounts, stock notes... look – there's the unpaid invoice for the rings." He passed a couple of sheets to Hermione who lit her wand. "Hmm... shady deals that he didn't want anyone to find. He's small fry, Dad. I've no interest in extending his stay in that foul Azkaban just for dealing in anti-trace rings and the like. What's that one, a letter?"

"Scribbled message about his wands. ... It's three years old."

Hermione took the note and read it out thoughtfully, "' _So you say yet again, Pilf! And I repeet for the humpteenth time – your a lying toerag. Who else nicks hot wands and such round here if it wernt you? You leave the other traders stuff alone or maybe that snoopin reporter will get his story after all.'_ It's not signed."

"Well he's in prison so it sounds like the Daily Prophet got the scoop then," chuckled Mr Granger. "Shall we go? You said you had a certificate to pick up?"

Hermione frowned, deep in thought. "No, not the Prophet. It was Xeno Lovegood who ran the story – I remember him saying when we were on that Snorkack safari. It's not important." She studied her watch. "Certificate, yes, and I need to retrieve it before I get my new unused wand or it will look odd when they weigh it."

.

The Qualification

With a soft pop, Hermione and her father Apparated into a very rundown street whose only notable contents were a few shabby offices, a mediocre-looking pub and an overflowing skip. "This is the place," she said. "The Ministry of Magic."

Mr Granger let go of her arm and looked about him. "Funny, I was expecting something more... imposing."

"This is only the visitors' entrance," said Hermione, pointing at an old red telephone box which was missing several panes of glass and stood before a heavily graffitied wall.

They crammed inside. Hermione enlarged her robe until it sagged around her, then took out a small vial and swallowed two tiny sips.

"And this is...?"

"Ageing potion. Just enough to make me look vaguely almost twenty."

"Won't you get into trouble if–?" Edward gulped as his daughter grew taller and filled out. "You look so like your mother when we–"

"Yes, well... let's not go there." Hermione hastily cut him off by seizing the receiver and dialling a number. "I checked very carefully and age is never mentioned so it's perfectly legal. I just want to avoid unnecessary–"

Mr Granger was startled to hear an officious woman's voice, sounding as if she were in the phone box with them, "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

"Hermione Granger and her escort to collect an envelope from reception."

"Thank you," said the cool female voice. "Visitors, please take a badge each and attach it to the front of your robes."

There was a click and a rattle, and the badges slid out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared.

The floor of the telephone box shuddered. They were sinking slowly into the ground. Hermione gripped her father's arm and squeezed it reassuringly. "Dad, I'm casting a very mild Notice-me-not charm on myself so you'll probably be only vaguely aware of me. I'll keep tweaking your arm to remind you I'm here. Let me do all the talking."

"Hmm...?"

After about a minute a chink of golden light flooded in and the lift came to a halt. Once the door sprung open, Hermione guided her father to the security reception desk at the far end of the Atrium. "Miss Granger to collect a package," she said.

The clerk at the desk nodded vaguely as he reached out. "Wand, please."

Hermione handed over the adult wand they'd bought from Pilf years before.

The wizard dropped it on to a strange brass instrument which looked rather like a set of weighing scales but with only one dish. It began to vibrate and he read out something displayed at the base of the device:

"' _Eleven inches, vine wood with a dragon heartstring core, been in use five years.'_ That correct?"

How could Hermione ever forget the wand chosen to match her original as closely as possible? The one that, curiously, she would soon be buying again? She nodded. "Yes."

The man turned to rummage through several pigeon holes in the wall behind him and retrieved a large fat envelope with a note attached. He frowned as he read it. "Wait right here."

"Is there a problem?"

"Wait here, I said."

He scribbled a note on a small piece of pale violet paper, folded it a couple of times then launched it into the air. Off it flew, flapping and darting directly for the nearest open lift door.

Mr Granger let out a low whistle ending in a "Wow!"

Hermione squeezed her father's arm but it was more to reassure herself than to remind him she was there. The desk clerk was still clutching the envelope tightly and scrutinising Hermione's face, but the Notice-me-not charm soon made him lose interest and he gazed over her shoulder. After what seemed like several long minutes, his eyes focused again on someone behind Hermione.

"Ah, Madam Marchbanks. This is her." He pointed at Hermione as if he were singling out a suspect on a lineup.

"Thanks, Eric."

Madam Marchbanks took the envelope from the man and looked at Mr Granger who gazed back without speaking. When she eventually glanced at Hermione, her eyebrows raised slightly and she said to Edward, "I see the likeness. Is this your sister? You must be very proud of her."

Hermione squeezed his arm and her father said, "Uuh... yes, I am. Very."

"I was very curious to meet her, Mr Granger. We don't often see such exceptionally high marks, especially from those who did not receive our academic instruction." She handed him the envelope. "Not that many do, these days," she added with a sigh. "Well, good day to you."

The moment she walked away, Hermione dragged her father back towards the visitors' lift.

""For someone 'so' curious, she didn't hang about, did she?" muttered Mr Granger to himself.

"She lost all interest because of the spell."

"Hmm...?" murmured Mr Granger, his attention on the red paintwork of the telephone box.

"She won't even remember my face, nor my age."

Mr Granger was gazing at the ceiling and didn't hear her.

.

Taking Charge

The spell had worn off by the time they'd returned to Diagon Alley. When they emerged from the Leaky Cauldron into Charing Cross Road, they found Harry and Neville taking charge of those Crest members who'd already arrived. A few parents were there, including Mrs Patil who'd also brought Parvati as well as Padma.

"Aunt Alice! ... Sirius!" cried Hermione, running forward to greet them.

"Hello, Hermione," smiled Mrs Longbottom.

"I see you've been busy." Sirius gestured at the large group that was gathering together just as the Knight Bus screeched to a halt and more children spilled out onto the pavement.

Neville was doing a head count and seemed satisfied, so he began showing those who didn't know how to get into the pub. They trooped through to Diagon Alley where they began to split into groups – though most of them were heading to Gringotts first – Harry, Neville, and Hermione among them with Sirius, Alice, and Edward following.

"So what do you think, Sirius?" said Mr Granger, nodding his head meaningfully forward.

"About what, Edward?" said Sirius.

"Oh, come on – _those_ two." He pointed forward at Harry and Hermione. "They're obviously smitten with each other. Now they're going to spend seven years with each other away from our watchful eyes. You must have wondered about their future together and..." Mr Granger became aware that Sirius wasn't smiling. "What's wrong?"

"They're far too young for that stupid nonsense!"

"What! My Hermione is NOT stupid! She's more sensible than _I_ am!"

"Which doesn't say much," growled Sirius. "I won't have it! I'm Harry's father and I don't want Hermione seeing him until they're older!"

Alice shrilled, "Oh come on, Sirius! This is not like you at all!"

Mr Granger's mouth was gaping in astonishment, but others of the children were passing them all heading to the bank, so he tried to keep his voice low. "Have you taken leave of your senses, Sirius? They're just children – I was half-joking about their future."

Hermione looked back. Her father and Sirius had stopped a dozen paces behind and were clearly arguing in restrained tones so as to not be overheard. Alice was stood to one side shaking her head. Harry said, "Come on, leave them to it. We know where the bank is."

Neville continued with Harry so Hermione hurried after them. "What are they arguing about, Harry? Do you know?"

"Probably about us. Mum and Dad don't want you to see me again until we're old enough."

"What! Old enough for what?"

"I only heard a few words. I think it's to do with that lady troll you told me about."

"Troll?" blinked Neville, not knowing whether he ought to laugh or not. He decided to keep quiet.

For a few seconds, Hermione also struggled to understand what Harry was talking about. She vaguely recalled something about the troll in the girl's toilet being mentioned at the fireworks display in Hyde Park years ago.

Harry tried to explain. "I suppose they think if it tries to kill you, then I'd be in danger so they want me kept away from you until then."

"But they can't possibly know about the troll..." _Can they?_ thought Hermione. "And anyway, it was used to help Voldemort – but now he's dead so there's no point." _Or is there?_ "Are you sure it's not just that they think I'm a bad influence on you?"

" _Any_ influ..." Neville tailed off.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You said "' _Any_ influence'."

"I just meant you... well, you try to control and manipulate people. Nobody likes that. Everybody says so."

Now Hermione stopped in her tracks. "What!"

Harry tried to smooth things over. "He means, well, you know... you kind of organise everyone too much."

Only a spluttering of incoherent protests came out of Hermione's mouth. Harry's words had hurt her deep inside. "And everybody says that?"

Harry stopped Neville by answering first, "No, not everyone, but a few of the Crest members are still unsure what you're doing. I mean, they were all caught up in the excitement and novelty at first – what with going to Hogwarts so near as well, but I think once we get to the castle and split up into houses then some of them might drift away from us."

"B-but I'm only trying to help everyone, can't they see that?"

"No, Hermione," said Harry, "they can't. They can't see the big picture like you can. They don't see the danger."

"Well I couldn't scare everybody right from the start, could I? I mean, that would be so cruel! Imagine Hannah just discovering the joy and wonder of magic only to be told there are horrific, sadistic black magic serial killers waiting in the shadows! That's why I played it down as simply a self-help, study group to learn and support each other against bullies and so on! How can you possibly think–!"

"Hang on! You don't need to convince me! I'm on your side, remember?" said Harry.

They'd reached the steps of Gringotts which diverted her train of thought and helped her cool off as they waited for their parents to catch up. "Don't forget what I reminded you about, Harry – you know, in your vault."

"I won't. I can't wait!" Harry cheered up a bit then. This was to be a special day in his life.

Sirius and Edward had stopped their arguing as they approached. "All set, Harry?" said Sirius. He held out a tiny gold key. "Your very own Potter family vault! Use it sensibly!"

"Thanks, Dad! I will." Harry took the key and gazed at it avidly. His first mum and dad had held this key; now it was his.

.

Discoveries in the Vault

Along the Gringotts carts track, the Grangers' vault came first, and although Mr Granger already knew the amounts, he was astonished and even a little embarrassed to see the physical piles of gold Galleons that had accumulated. Hermione took enough of a bagful to carry her through the next school year.

Alice and Neville had to divert to a different tunnel after that so they agreed to meet later. The occupants of the remaining cart fell silent as it proceeded on its way, each absorbed in their own thoughts, but Harry leapt out enthusiastically enough once the cart next pulled to a halt.

"Key, please," said the goblin escort.

Harry handed it over, and the vault door was soon swung open. The boy gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts. Across the piles of treasure, and eclipsing their splendour, were curious fabrics. One, a fluid and silvery grey, lay in gleaming folds, and beside it, a shiver of colourful glory, swirling and changing its surface in the slight breeze from the door and the goblin lamplight falling on it from above.

"Those are your parents most precious possessions, one of which we salvaged from the wrecked cottage," said Sirius. "The other belonged to your father. He lent it to Dumbledore and when it was returned, your mother – your second mother, Hestia, I mean – put them both in here for safekeeping until you were old enough.

"What are they?" said Harry.

"You'll see. They're yours now. All of this is yours," smiled Sirius. "But remember what I've taught you!" he shouted after Harry, who had rushed inside and was throwing up showers of gold into the air.

"I'll take the lot and bet it all on England for the Quidditch Cup!"

"He's definitely your son, Sirius," grinned Edward, hoping to ease the tension between them. "A joker through and through."

Sirius nodded and managed a smile as he threw a small bag in to Harry. "Best of luck getting it all in then because that bag won't carry more than you really need."

With a laugh, Harry picked up the shining, slithery cloth. "It's a full-sized man's cloak, Dad! The most beautiful cloak I ever saw!"

"Try it on then," said Sirius with a big grin on his face.

Harry swung the cloak about himself and looked down expecting to see the material cascade too low down over his shoes. His cry echoed around the stone and metal walls. "IT'S INVISIBLE! It's made ME invisible!"

The others watched as, amidst shrieks of exultation, handfuls of Galleons seemed to throw themselves up towards the open bag as if Harry was hoping it would swallow them all.

"Damnedest thing I ever saw," Mr Granger whispered to Hermione just outside the open vault door.

He didn't notice she had her fingers crossed. _Come on, Harry, don't forget!_

Amidst the upward sprays of golden coins, a pit began to form as Harry's invisible hands dug deeper and deeper into the pile. "Hullo, what's this?"

Hermione, who was still waiting politely outside with the others, said, "What is it, Harry?"

Sirius strode into the vault to see better. Mr Granger sensed Hermione's eagerness and held her back.

After scraping more Galleons aside, Harry said, "Looks like a little box, Dad."

He pulled it out and up, the box apparently turning on its own in midair as he scrutinised it. The pretty container was no bigger than a shoebox, but a fine gold line crossed the dark, polished wood to trim and outline the lid.

Sirius shook his head in surprise. "Interesting... open it up then, Harry!

With shaking hands, Harry did so, gasping as various personal effects were revealed inside: small pieces of jewellery, family business papers and photos. "Look, Dad, you and Uncle Remus are on this one!"

Sirius took the picture and gazed at an image of a forgotten holiday.

"Here's a shiny... uuh... I see the vault reflected in it but..."

"Ah, so that's where it is! It's your dad's two-way mirror, Harry. I've got the other one."

"But... but it's not working..."

Sirius laughed. So did Mr Granger and Hermione. Even the goblin managed a little sneer as, with his sharp teeth, he tore off a wad of skink jerky and began slowly chewing.

"You're still invisible, Harry!" cried Hermione.

But the mirror had already been slipped back into the box, for now Harry's hands were feeling a soft, red-velvet bag not much bigger than his two fists. He pulled down his hood and his strange expression, together with his sudden silence focused the attention of Sirius.

"What's this, Dad?" said Harry, feigning ignorance, for his mind was filled with Hermione's promise from years before, and of which she'd reminded him just before they entered the bank: _the real treasure_.

"Don't know, son. Never seen that before. Looks important. Pull on the strings."

Harry trembling fingers could scarcely hold the strings let alone pull them, but he fumbled his way until they loosened enough of an opening for him to take out the contents. He stared in rapture. In each hand he held a miniature enamel portrait.

"Mum? Dad?"

"Harry?" said Lily, then a mixture of smiles and concern appeared on her face. "Oh, Harry, it's been so long! What's happened? Is everything alright? You're so grown up! These were to be surprises from... Santa."

"It's way past Christmas, Lily," said James, his first smile fading rapidly. "I think we've been asleep for a very long time. Are you okay, Harry?"

"I... I'm... f-fine."

Harry's words had stumbled out and, without thinking, Lily tried to wipe away the tear that had fallen upon her image. "Oh, Harry, darling..."

"It's us then, isn't it, son? You're grieving for us?" James said solemnly.

Harry nodded and another tear fell from the end of his nose.

A gruff voice said, "He came on Halloween, James."

"Padfoot? Well, you old dog! What are you...?" His delight evaporated as he digested what Sirius had said.

"You saved me, Mum," Harry said quietly. "Voldemort tried to kill me but you got in his way. The curse rebounded on him. He's dead."

Lily's tiny image put a hand to her mouth in horror. And your father?"

Harry nodded. "Dad too. He got both of you."

"But..."

Sirius said, "James, it was Peter. He betrayed you."

"Peter? I can't believe it! Peter betrayed us?"

Harry passed James's portrait to Sirius.

Sirius nodded. "He's still out there somewhere. Probably hiding in a sewer pipe like the rat he is."

James looked thoughtful. "He'd more likely join with the strongest Death Eaters for protection – that's more his style."

Sirius nodded. "There are dark forces, yes, but they no longer call themselves Death Eaters. ... James, I never knew these portraits existed or I'd have come sooner. There's something I desperately need to ask you..." He carried the portrait a few paces away and began to whisper into it.

Lily tried to divert her son's attention. "Harry, what do you need? Is there any way we can help you?"

Harry smiled wanly and shook his head. "I'm starting Hogwarts soon. And I've made some wonderful friends already." He turned his head rapidly towards the vault door and reached out eagerly with his free hand. "Hermione! Come on! Come and meet my first mum!"

"Hullo, Mrs Potter." Hermione crouched down with Harry on the heap of gold to get a close look at the tiny painting. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Oh, I'm so pleased you're friends," said Lily. "Take care of my Harry for me, won't you?"

"But you don't know what she's like now!" Sirius had raised his voice but suppressed it towards the end of his exclamation, and moved a little further away to the back of the vault.

"I promise I will," smiled Hermione.

"Sirius and Hestia took me in, Mum," said Harry. "Took care of me. Adopted me – but I'm still a Potter," he added hastily.

"Hestia? Hestia Jones?"

"Oh, of course, you don't know. Sirius and Hestia married; they're my new mum and dad now."

"How lovely!" said Lily. "Hestia must be perfect for him! Well, I never thought... but yes, perfect! Oh, I'm so glad you've got a new family, Harry. And, are you happy? Tell me you're happy."

"I am. Very." Harry grinned. "And all this is like Christmas day – thank you!" His outstretched arm swept around the vault until his eyes alighted on the forgotten garment of shivering hues. Its fleecy threads had become subdued to a soft green, but as Harry picked it up, they turned to reveal some of their true colours: golds, reds, and depthless royal blue.

In a quiet voice, Lily said, "Your father gave me that enchanted shawl when I agreed to marry him; it was his mother's and hers before her. I know I cherished it until the day I died."

There was a beautiful silence for a while as mother and son studied each other's faces. Hermione, stood up and backed away slightly, not wishing to intrude in the intimate moment.

Perhaps Harry heard her footsteps crunching on the gold coins, perhaps not, but he said, and his voice was barely a whisper, "Mum... would you be offended if I give this to someone else? Someone very special?"

"Harry, always remember that I am but a likeness of your mother's nature, but I do know that giving away her shawl would make your mother very, very happy."

Harry rose to his feet and turned to Hermione. She seemed diminished, almost frightened as she stared at the softly-coloured garment he held out to her. "Hermione, would you like this? It's family. It's all I have."

Those being the exact same words he used before in her previous lifetime, she could only nod and bite her lip hard – just as she had that first time. He helped her wrap it around her shoulders then stood back to appraise her appearance.

"So, it's definite she'd die?" Sirius could be heard saying. "There's no other way to stop it?"

"Dad!" Harry slewed around, skidding and scattering gold in all directions as he moved towards Sirius. "Who's going to die?"

Sirius said, "Hush a minute, Harry. Let me talk to Lily."

Reluctantly, Harry handed over Lily's portrait and stomped back to Hermione, muttering loudly. "It's the troll. It has to be! It can't be you, it just can't be!"

"Me? Me What?" said Hermione.

"It's a big plot with Dumbledore like I told you!"

"Dumbledore? What's he got to do with it?"

"I've heard Mum and Dad talking about getting someone – perhaps that troll to... to... do you in or something horrible!"

"Oh, Harry, there's no way Sirius wants to kill me!"

"Kill you?" Sirius was walking back. "We're not trying to kill you, Hermione, we're trying to protect you!"

"What!" Mr Granger joined them in the vault looking very angry.

Sirius's shoulders sagged resignedly. "Let me explain."

"No," said Lily. "Let me tell it. Give me to Harry. Hermione, you deserve to hear this too, and... you are Hermione's father I take it?"

Mr Granger said yes and joined them – all sitting on the heap of gold. The goblin just outside the door spat out the remnants of his jerky and sighed; it sounded like it would be a long wait...

.

The Runic Oath

Lily said, "Harry, your father and I were Aurors before you were even born."

"Yes, Dad told me – Sirius, I mean."

"Well, when I was close to expecting you, I had to take time off work, and your father was partnered with another Auror. One day they were in difficulties–"

"A firetrap set by the Mulcibers," growled James from Sirius's hand. "They're both rotting in Azkaban now – still, I hope?" Sirius nodded.

Lily continued, "Your father risked his own life to save his partner and she swore a runic oath of honour to repay him – a life debt."

Harry's face had lit up at the account of his father's heroism but Mr Granger said, "Didn't that obligation end with erm... James's death?"

Lily shook her red hair vigorously. "If there are any offspring then it passes to them."

"So it's Harry," said Hermione. "The debt is now owed to Harry."

"Yes..." Lily studied Hermione more closely before continuing. "But not until he is eleven."

Sirius took up the story. "The Auror, she contacted us a couple of years ago and–"

"On my poop deck! Uuh... I mean, erm... Dad, when I was eight, I overheard you and Mum talking through an open window while me and Nev were playing pirates."

"You were up on that roof again? What have I told you about that? It's risky and–"

"Sirius, Sirius..." said James. "It was two years ago. Go on with the story."

"Right. Anyway, we went to see her and had to agree she'd bodyguard Harry for a year to pay off the debt."

"But why didn't you tell me, Dad?" said Harry.

"Such debts are normally shared only by the one who makes the oath. I couldn't even ask Dumbledore – _she_ had to get him to agree she could protect you when you went to Hogwarts. She insisted it was secret anyway but James has just told me–"

"That was never true," said James. "The oath is written down in a very old, formalised runic declaration – it should be in the box these portraits were in."

"But that's good isn't it?" said Harry. "Why does Hermione have to die?"

"WHAT!" cried Mr Granger. "What's this about!"

With a wave of his hand and a shake of his head, Sirius said, "No, no, that's not it at all..." He hesitated. "The experience in the fire, it changed the woman. Before, she was eager and professional but afterwards..."

"She wasn't that bad," said James.

"You didn't get to hear about events in the years after your death. There were rumours about her becoming very heavy-handed. More Death Eaters died during her arrests than any other Auror. She became part of Barty Crouch's elite. He looked the other way."

"The Seven Deadly Sinners!" cried Hermione.

"Wha...?" said Lily. "By Merlin, how could you have learned that, Hermione? Only a few of us in the know at the Ministry called them the Sinners."

"Erm... Mr Crouch, that is..." Hermione thought quickly. "Oh, you wouldn't know. After your deaths, his son was arrested and Mr Crouch lost popularity. I think there was something in the Prophet where he was criticised about them. Er..."

Lily frowned doubtfully.

Harry said, "Dad, you think she might hurt Hermione?"

Sirius sighed. "Not seriously, but she's sworn to protect you, Harry. Anyone too close to you – if they did anything say, risky to your health, well, they might be treated roughly."

"That's why you didn't want Hermione to see Harry until they were older?" said Mr Granger.

Sirius nodded. "It's only a year. I thought the secrecy would also end then."

"There never was a secret clause," James reminded him.

"Well, the answer is simple, isn't it," Mr Granger said brightly. "Dismiss this woman. Waive the debt. Surely Harry will be safe at Hogwarts?"

"We can't," said Lily. "It works like an unbreakable vow."

Hermione gasped. "So she'll die if the debt isn't fulfilled?"

Sirius said, "It was the only factor that persuaded Dumbledore to accept an ex-Auror standing continuous guard over a student at Hogwarts. It would be cold-blooded murder if we denied her."

"Continuous!" cried Harry. "Even in the bath! I'm not having a lady watch me have a bath!"

Lily laughed. "A young and beautiful woman, Harry. She'll probably share the bath."

"No way!"

"Not so young or beautiful these days," muttered Sirius.

"Tell them, Padfoot," said James.

Sirius groaned. "Your mum was teasing you, Harry. The witch was nearly thirty but looked forty even back then and..."

"Tell them!" insisted James.

"Lily, you never really saw her after the fire because you were taking care of Harry that first year. Apart from her injuries, the story goes that her father had been uuh... attacked by a hag."

"What!" cried Lily. "I never heard that."

"The tale surfaced more as she erm... matured."

"In what way?"

"Oh, Lily, what do you think? She's a half-hag. They age quickly and deform as rapidly."

Lily scowled. "You're exaggerating as usual, Sirius."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "She eats minced liver with an eight-spiked fork, Lily! _Raw_ liver!"

Hermione shuddered as a sudden dread passed like a dark cloud through her mind. "Sirius... what... what is her name?"

Sirius stared at Hermione, surprised that the question had come from her. Then he said quietly, "Daggard. Her name is Steff Daggard, and she's quite mad."

.

A Wand For Life

Many of the Crest children were emerging from Gringotts at the same time and excitedly discussing where they were next headed. But for Harry, there was only one shop to be considered first: Ollivanders. Hannah and Justin joined Harry and Hermione along with Neville and Susan before setting off with Alice to get their first real wands. Sirius and Edward, briefly free of their children, went back to the Leaky.

Even Hermione was looking forward to 'retrieving' her original vine wand which had seemed like a lost friend. Other Crest members were already in the shop and a queue had formed at the counter. Justin and Hannah were first and soon began examining their purchases together, and practising a few swishes and simple illumination and tingle spells.

"Ow! Tone it down a bit, Hannah," cried Justin, as he rubbed his stinging elbow.

Hannah laughed with delight. "Magic is so much stronger and easier now!"

Hermione went over to give them their new Crest Galleons and explain about the anti-trace on them. "You'll be able to practise anywhere with one of these in your pocket but don't let anyone see you, and keep it to yourselves. If word ever got to the Ministry you'd still be in trouble."

"Hermione!" called Harry, "You're next!"

She hurried over to the counter, was measured up, and soon began trying the wands that Ollivander fetched from his stock. It took a while but finally, he came up with the one she recognised, and she cast a Lumos spell.

"Aaagh!" Mr Ollivander took several steps back, blinking. The amount of light surprised even Hermione and she made a mental note to scale down her power until really needed. This wand was much more attuned to her than the one she'd bought in Pilf's.

Mr Ollivander said, "Well, young lady, there can be no doubt that particular wand has chosen you quite decidedly. That will be seven Galleons, please."

Pleased to have her own wand again, Hermione stood aside.

"Next," said Mr Ollivander. "Ah..." For a moment, Hermione thought she saw a flicker of concern in the old man's eyes, but he continued smoothly enough. "I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Mr Potter."

He reached down behind the counter and lifted up an open box in which lay three wands. Ollivander handed one of them to Harry to try.

"Well, give it a wave."

Hermione frowned as a few dull sparks fizzled from Harry's wand tip. But it wasn't the magic that puzzled her. She'd always taken for granted that everyone needed measuring up for a good quality wand such as Ollivander provided. She wondered if this was how it had happened in her previous life. Yes, perhaps the wandmaker prepared more carefully in advance for famous and important people; Harry was too modest to have mentioned it.

"Clearly not," said the wandmaker. "How about this?"

The second one was so definitely Harry's original holly wand that Hermione knew it straight away, though it didn't look quite as straight as she recalled. But the wand worked fine because the air crackled as soon as Harry raised it to cast up green sparks. "YES!" he cried.

Harry was overjoyed as they all went out of the shop together. "That was quicker than I thought it would be – let's get our books next, then we've time for ice cream!"

For some reason, even the thought of buying books did not stop the odd feeling that something was not quite right nagging Hermione as they walked down the street.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _This Book 1 is the second of a planned eight, novel-length books (Books 0 to 7) included in one long fic. Currently I'll be adding chapters about every 8 to 10 days._

 _So, here we are on the threshold of all-new Hogwarts adventures, challenges, dreadful villains, and above all, friendship. Enjoy!_

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	34. 1:Welcome To Hogwarts!

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she formed the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now the youngsters are starting at Hogwarts, she has contacted the most trusted members of the old D.A. to form CREST: a new study/defence group. But a ruthless half-hag bodyguard has been assigned to protect Harry in his first year. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 34**

 **Welcome To Hogwarts!**

* * *

.

Bittersweet Journey

As Hermione had promised, all the member of Crest received their Hogwarts acceptance letters by owl during July and August. Harry was somewhat miffed that his was addressed to Harry Black, but everyone's list of required books and other items agreed with the one Hermione had previously supplied them with.

Being a Muggle-born, Hermione was handed hers by Minerva Mcgonagall.

"Sorry to disturb you on such a fine Sunday morning," she'd said to Hermione's parents, "but I wanted to meet all of you together. I have to inform you of some rather astonishing news."

But it had been McGonagall who'd been surprised when she'd been told they already knew about magic from Mr Granger's wizard friend 'Adam'.

"Well!" she'd exclaimed with an air of thanks-for-wasting-my-time, "that's the second one this week!" At which point Hermione had decided to tell her she knew Justin and a few other magical children, and that together they'd formed a study group.

Professor McGonagall had nodded, impressed but puzzled, bid them all good day, and Disapparated to consider how best to employ her next couple of now-unscheduled hours.

And so the first of September finally arrived, and after a tearful departure from her mother, Hermione Apparated early with a small, extension-charmed trunk to Kings Cross station, there to watch out for her friends. She was particularly concerned about Ron – still holidaying in France – from whom she'd heard nothing for over a week, at which time a bedraggled owl had brought only a hasty message reporting Mrs Weasley was reluctant to leave Ginny 'until the last minute'. Ron was cutting it fine if he was intending to travel directly from a Floo port to the train station.

"Harry!" Hermione ran forward as soon as she spotted her best friend entering the train station.

But her excitement was short-lived. Hestia was distressed and Sirius was looking rather flustered. "Remember what I've told you, Harry," he said, "and you'll be fine."

He looked around with a worried smile at Hermione's approach. "Hermione, I'm anxious to remind you, be extra careful how you behave around Harry – no sudden movements, no playacting that might look dangerous, no wand pointing – and I'd advise you to keep your distance as far as possible."

"Don't worry, I can take care of myself as well as Harry."

They found Hannah between platforms nine and ten with her father. "We're waiting for Justin and Dean; Dad's going to show us all how to get through," she explained excitedly. "We'll catch up with you later."

Harry and Hermione went through to platform nine and three-quarters and soon spotted Neville and Susan talking rather awkwardly together all on their own; they looked relieved when they heard Hermione's shout, and turned in her direction.

"Have you seen Ron yet?" Hermione called out as she approached.

They shook their heads. Neville said, "There's still fifteen minutes – let's find a compartment."

They bagged seats and settled themselves in – Hermione still glancing anxiously at her watch and leaning out the window to scrutinise the dwindling crowd on the platform.

The others all arrived together in a rush: Justin and Hannah, Ron and Dean, huffing and puffing to get their trunks onto the train as the whistle sounded.

"Not my fault!" gasped Ron. "Mum was going mental! Dad had to drag her away in the end! What with Charlie going away tomorrow to study dragons in Romania and Ginny insisting on staying in France, you'd think Mum was never going to see either of them again!"

"Ron! Don't say that!" cried Hermione. "How were they anyway – Ginny and Luna? How'd they look?"

"Loopy as ever. That Luna's brought Ginny out of herself more – quite cheeky at times."

Hermione said, "Dean, I suppose you've realised that this is Ron Weasley? Ron, this is Dean Thomas, one of the new members who joined Crest while you were away."

"Crest? What happened to 'Shield'?" groused Ron.

Harry spoke up, "Uuh... we took a vote. It was close but..."

"Oh, well." Ron and Dean exchanged nods. "The more the merrier," said Ron. "What team do you support?"

"West Ham. We had quite a–"

"Who?"

Hermione said, "They're a Muggle soccer team, Ron."

For most of an hour, Ron and Dean enthused about their own particular favourite sport while Justin and Hannah chatted about what it would be like to be surrounded by hundreds of magical children at Hogwarts. Hermione tried to ease the obvious awkwardness between Neville and Susan but Harry was both hindering and helping by making light of it all – exhilarated to be going on this new adventure. She tried to divert him a little:

"How's your mum and dad getting along these days, Harry?"

"Fine. Well, she's sometimes a bit low – because I'm going to be away, I think."

Hermione pondered this for a few moments. "I'd have thought she'd have come with you to Diagon Alley then."

"Yes, well... that was one of her off days."

Hermione looked thoughtful but Ron said, "That's nothing to how my mum was when we left Ginny."

Susan smiled knowingly and said, "All grownup ladies have off days," which caused Neville's cheeks to colour slightly. He was saved from further embarrassing attention when a witch arrived at the doorway:

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

"Oh, yeah," cried Harry, jumping up. "Justin, you've got to try a chocolate frog! You too, Hannah." He took several from the lady and handed them out. "Have you got the every-flavour beans! Oh, and Scoff Drops, Liquorice Wands, Sugar Quills – oh and some of those, and those, and erm... those."

"Harry-ee!" laughed Hermione. "You'll be sick."

"Wait till you try these." He offered Dean a pink Scoff Drop and winked at Ron.

No sooner had Dean popped it in his mouth than he exclaimed in a high-pitched squeaky voice, "You're a useless showoff, Potter! That's not how to make friends, you stupid prat!"

Harry roared with laughter.

Ron said, "They make you say some of your worst thoughts but make _you_ sound ridiculous too!"

"But I never meant–!" cried Dean, now in his normal voice.

"Ah, but just for a moment it crossed your mind, right? And if you drop one..." Ron did so deliberately and as the Drop bounced it squealed, "Clumsy idiot, boy! Why don't you bang your own head on the floor next time!"

"And you can control them a bit so long as you scoff a lot – oh, and scoff a lot!" Harry laughed at the old joke and thrust the packet towards Hermione. "Take plenty of the brown ones to make it last. Do whats-his-name – Snape – like you did the other week. You were hilarious."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You've never even seen him yet, Harry!"

"I know but if he's half as funny as you do him, then he's going to be loads of fun!"

"You won't think that when you meet him!" Clutching the bag of sweets, she took out a handful and slipped a couple into her mouth before uttering slowly in a deeply gruff intonation, "Ah... Mr Potter! Our ... new ... _celebrity."_

There was an eruption of laughter on hearing the small girl speaking with a man's voice.

"Tell me, Potter. What would you get if you mixed an infusion of slimeweed with a Potions teacher out shopping?"

"I don't know, Professor," Harry said with feigned meekness.

"You ... don't ... know. Clearly fame isn't everything. You'd be faced with a very slippery customer of course – one thousand points from Gryffindor."

The compartment resonated with the howls of laughter from the other children.

"But, sir!"

"One million points for breathing, Potter!"

Guffaws mixed with applause they could probably hear back at King's Cross station – but they all instantly became silent as the compartment door banged aside and a hideous figure stood there, hunched over and scowling, smoke snorting rapidly from a blackened wood pipe clenched between twisted yellow teeth.

The intruder tugged the pipe away from her mouth to screech, "Sharrup yer feggin' row!" Then one watery eye fell upon Hermione who had been handing back the packet of sweets to Harry. The old witch strode forward and knocked them out of her hand, screaming, "Yer tryin' ter poison 'im, 'eh?"

She was prodding Hermione with her pipe when the dozens of Scoff Drops bouncing around the compartment floor began yelling insults at her, "You bungling buffoon!", "What a clumsy arse!", "Useless prat of–"

The dancing confectionery was blasted out of existence by one audible swish of the witch's pipe from which streamed an arc of foul tobacco smoke. She thrust it into her mouth again and glared at everyone. They stared back in astonishment, studying the distortions in her features.

The woman's eye – the half-closed, watery one, clearly had a terrible squint, the bulbous nose was as hooked down as her chin tilted up, and her skin was as sallow as an old potato.

"Seen enuff' 'ave yer? Well, gerraht all on yer! AHT! AHT!" She physically seized Susan and Ron's arms and hustled them out into the corridor. "All on yer!" She didn't wait but grabbed two more of the occupants and shoved them roughly out the door, ignoring their protests. Her strength was far greater than her appearance suggested, for she immediately spun around and was reaching for more, but Hannah and Justin hurried past her. "My father will hear of this!"

Only Harry and Hermione remained. Hermione was seething, almost ready to hurl the woman off the train, but common sense was working too. This witch was an unknown, and Hermione dare not show her hand too obviously. "I'm _thsorry..._ are y-you _thSteff,_ that _isth... Missth_ Daggard? _Harry'sth_ b-bodyguard?"

The witch tilted her head and examined Hermione's face as if she were refusing rotten cod at the fishmongers. "Din'tcha 'ear me, pig-uggly!" The pipe twitched in her mouth and Hermione was thrown back against the window, then sideways like a ragdoll high to the seats opposite Harry where she banged her head on the overhead luggage racks before slumping down. Then finally, before she could draw breath, she had been hurled out of the door which slammed shut after her. The compartment windows instantly blackened over leaving her and the others blind to Harry's plight. All they heard was, " _You listen' 'ere, Black! Yer'll do as yer told or I'll–"_ before a muffling spell reduced the rant to a dull, smothered rumble.

Hermione became aware that the cream of the Crest organisation were looking down at their captured leader's first lieutenant with a mixture of doubt and disappointment. Ron helped her up. She had to think – and fast.

"She's Harry's bodyguard and won't harm him but we need to regroup, think sensibly, and not act rashly. Daggard is clearly a very powerful witch and we're beginners. She's exactly the sort of bully we need to learn to protect ourselves from."

"What right has she to throw us out of our compartment?" cried Justin. "All our belongings are in there. The train is full. Are we supposed to stand about in the corridor all the way to Scotland!"

"That's just it. We don't _know_ what rights she has. I propose we test them. Will someone search the train to see if there are any empty seats anywhere? I'm going to see the Head Girl. Who's coming with me?"

Ron and Susan were despatched to look for seats; the rest of them followed Hermione to the front of the train.

.

A Sticky Situation

The prefects enjoyed an open lounge carriage all to themselves, undivided by compartments, and as Hermione led Neville and the others in, one of them, a long and lanky seventeen-year-old girl sprawled across two seats and sipping juice from a goblet, called out, "Where d'you think you firsties are going? Prefects only in here!"

" _Pleasth... there'sth_ a problem on the train. We'd like to _thspeak_ to B-Brenda, _pleasth_ ," said Hermione.

The girl frowned and swung a leg dismissively. "That's me, and I said Prefects only!"

"No, Brenda _Higgsth_ is noted for her sense of fair play which _isth_ why she _isth_ Head Girl _whereasth_ you are a prefect and notable only by the depth of your thickheaded incompetence."

The girl spluttered juice all down her front and stumbled to her feet roaring. "Why you little f–!"

"I'm Higgs," cut in another voice. "What's the trouble?" The girl coming forward looked stern but Hermione knew her character well enough not to be concerned.

"Harry Potter's bodyguard threw _usth_ all out of our compartment. We have as much right as anyone to a seat on the _Hogwartsth Expressth_."

The lanky girl strode forward and stamped her foot. "You heard what she called me! Chuck her out, Brenda, before I curse her big ugly mouth!"

Higgs sighed. "Mary, go on patrol will you? I'll handle this."

"I told you I can't stand on my... bad leg!" Caught out sturdily on her feet, she looked around wildly for a seat that didn't need walking to.

"Go!" thundered Higgs.

Mary, limping over-woodenly, glared at Hermione, pushed past Neville and Justin, and headed down the train with a humph.

"For your information, the Headmaster told us to give Steff Daggard plenty of leeway," said Higgs. "In some respects she's been given the same status as a Hogwarts teacher so if she says out, then that means out."

"But there was no excuse to be violent!" cried Justin.

"Violent? What did she do?"

"Well, she... uuh... she pushed us out into the corridor."

The Head Girl's eyes widened in mock horror. "Merlin's Beard! Stop the train and send for the Minister of Magic at once! A student has been pushed! Whatever next? Listen, I'm told if you keep your nose out and don't resist her then you'll be fine."

"But where are we supposed to go now?" wailed Hannah. "And there are two more of us."

Higgs eyes darted around the carriage. Most of the prefects were on patrol but cloaks and bags had been used to claim seats.

"Take that empty corner over there – just this once mind, and watch your manners. And you..." She turned back to Hermione. "What's your name?"

"Granger." Hermione stepped forward and held out her hand. "Thank you."

Higgs accepted her handshake. "Okay, Granger, but don't be so lippy to prefects in future." Then she grimaced and slowly raised her open palm. It was gooey with one of the last couple of Scoff Drops Hermione had forgotten she was still clutching. Higgs scowled in disgust and shook it off. As it hit the floor it growled, "You bungling half-witted turd! You couldn't even see I was trying to get some sleep?"

"Oops! Sorry," said Hermione, her own hand messy with the very last of the abusive sweets. She looked round for somewhere to throw it.

"Don't you bloody dare!" snapped Higgs.

Hermione wisely decided against it, wrapped the sweet in her hankie then pocketed it with an apologetic simper under the Head Girl's watchful eye.

Higgs rolled her eyes at Hermione then returned to the senior prefects at their own table, wiping the disgustingly-sticky hand down her robe as she did so.

.

The Hag Rules

"Neville, I'm going to fetch Ron and Susan," said Hermione, once they'd secured their seats in the near corner of the prefects' carriage. He nodded distractedly, having found himself awkwardly trapped between Hannah and Justin.

Once out of sight of the prefects, Hermione sent a quiet Patronus to Ron, then swept invisibly towards Harry's compartment. Through walls and windows, flesh and fabric she slipped soundlessly until she found Harry on his knees with Daggard pinching his ear to hold him there.

"Ow!"

"My rules! Say them again and get it right this time!"

"Oooww! Alright! Alright! One: _Always do what you say!"_

"Two?" Daggard blew the word out with smoke from her pipe.

"Two is... Ow! _My friends will get hurt if I don't."_

"And finally, three?"

" _I mustn't ever tell anyone._ Oh, and don't forget four," cried Harry, " _you're a lump of cockroach dung!_ Ooooowwwww!"

Daggard dragged him by his ear back to his seat. "Sit _dahn. Shurrup!_ and mind yer p's and q's. Let me make it clear, Black. I hates all your kind, but mostly you, and I'm only babysittin' yer 'cos I have ter! But jus' keep in mind it won't always be so..."

"Me? I'm not a Black!"

"Yer named in magic, yer'll see!"

"But why hate ME? You don't even know me!"

Daggard rapped her pipe hard on his forehead, scattering sparks and particles of hot ash down his face. "Don't fink I've forgit watcha got there, Black! Yer stole my thunder! Now shut it!"

Harry glared and lifted his chin in defiance at his tormentor. "My dad will sort you out, don't worry!"

Daggard sneered. "Yer dad ain't 'ere' is he? You fink 'e's safe? Fink yer ma's safe? Listen, I find out everyone's weakness. That's why I'm so successful. Your weakness is yer friends and family, and don'choo forgit it! And it'll be yer own fault won't it? Yeah."

Hermione had heard enough. There was nothing much she could do for Harry at this time anyway, and she couldn't hold her immaterial spell much longer. The other kids would also soon be wondering where she'd got to. She returned to the prefects' carriage.

"For the time being," she explained to the other kids, "we should observe and learn. Harry is not in serious physical danger but we must not do anything close to him that might look risky. That foul hag is only interested in saving her own skin. She's taken an oath to protect Harry and if he comes to harm, then she'll die, but she can't stop us sitting with Harry in class and mealtimes and in the dorm. Meanwhile, I'll work out a plan. There may be a loophole in the oath. Perhaps put her to sleep for a year or–"

Ron shook his head. "If it's anything like the Unbreakable Vow then that won't work. If she can't protect Harry for any reason then she dies."

"Oh, well, I'll think of something," said Hermione, but inside she was not so confident as she sounded. "Remember, problems might affect any of us but our strength is sticking together no matter what. We support Harry, then when any of you are in trouble, the rest of us will be there for you, right?"

"Right!" cried several, though there were some less than enthusiastic mumbles too. Hermione knew she'd still much to do in bonding everyone together.

.

At the Drop of a Hat

As darkness fell, and the train finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Daggard was first off. She refused to let Harry risk the boats on the lake and instead, frogmarched him up the carriage track to the school. Only when McGonagall took charge could Harry rejoin his friends along with the rest of the first-years – though Steff Daggard was never far away.

After they had assembled in an anteroom, McGonagall said, "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you."

"Remember," said Hermione to the Crest members, "the Sorting Hat does take account of your own choice so–"

"So what house are you hoping for?" The interruption was from Draco, but he was addressing Harry. "I'm Malfoy, by the way, Draco Malfoy. I can help you a great deal if you're in Slytherin." He held out his hand.

Steff Daggard stiffened, took a step closer, but said nothing. If anything, she appeared puzzled.

Harry sized up Draco's attitude. Hermione had told him a great deal about the boy and most of it was bad, but as with Snape, their policy was to avoid antagonism if possible. He accepted Draco's hand and said, "I'll be in Gryffindor. Has to be."

Disappointment clouded Malfoy's features. He glanced around at Ron and Hermione, and seemed to struggle with himself. Finally, he said, "Well, I can still help. Good luck, Black," and turned away just as McGonagall returned.

"Wish people wouldn't keep calling me Black," muttered Harry to Hermione as they were herded into the Great Hall and led to the far end.

As they approached the long staff table, Hermione searched the faces of the teachers seated there. Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Flitwick were present of course – and Quirrell had returned too, sitting beside Snape adjacent to the empty stool which had been placed in front of the table. She observed that Quirrell looked very different without his turban, but had time only for that one glimpse because the first-years were made to line up with the teachers' table behind them, looking at the other students. The hundreds of faces staring at them seemed like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight.

Professor McGonagall reverently placed the Sorting Hat on top of the stool. Positive murmurs from Crest members told Hermione they were reassured and encouraged that the first of what she had promised was true. But it was when the sorting began that she felt their growing appreciation and even admiration.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

There was only a moment's pause after the hat was placed on Hannah's head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat and the Hufflepuff table roared their approval.

"Bentley, Gerald"

"RAVENCLAW!" More shouts of welcome.

But this time, as the applause died away, there was a longer silence. McGonagall was scrutinising the list in her hand very carefully. She sent a quick puzzled glance towards the Headmaster before reading out:

"Black, Harry!"

Whispers hissed around the Great Hall.

" _Black,_ did she say?"

" _The_ Harry Black?"

Harry folded his arms and pulled a face, refusing to budge until his proper name was called. Hermione gave him a nudge.

"Black, Harry!" McGonagall repeated, glaring directly at Harry.

Hermione nudged his arm again and shrugged her shoulders resignedly at him when he looked at her. Grudgingly, he stomped forward. McGonagall clamped the hat quickly onto his head and Harry thought he heard her give a sigh of relief.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

There was uproar at the Gryffindor table as Harry walked shakily towards it. Relieved not to have been put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy Weasley shook his hand vigorously, while the twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

As Hermione's predictions became fact, she was aware of a growing pattern of faces turned directly towards her. Surprise and respect were plainly evident in the expressions of those closely studying her and raising their estimation of her. Soon Justin Finch-Fletchley went, as promised, to Hufflepuff followed by Seamus Finnigan to Gryffindor then...

"Granger, Hermione!" called McGonagall.

Hermione walked quickly forward to the stool and sat down, anxious to rejoin Harry at the Gryffindor table. The last thing she saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the trusting gaze of Crest members; Hannah even had her hands clasped as if in prayer. Next second Hermione was looking at the dark interior of the hat. She waited confidently.

 _Hmm..._ said a small voice in her ear. _Not too difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's wonderful talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting ... but I have never witnessed such a wealth of accumulated wisdom, knowledge, and magical presence! It has to be..._ "RAVENCLAW!"

Hermione numbly gripped the edges of the stool, still waiting for the hat to declare Gryffindor. That was a given – the only possibility. Yes, the hat had shouted something but it made no sense so it wasn't relevant. Only when light hit her eyes as McGonagall pulled off the hat did she blink at the silent hall.

"Sorry?" she whispered to McGonagall. "What did it say?"

McGonagall raised her shoulders and humphed. "I would have thought it was simple enough, Miss Granger! Ravenclaw is your house." She tapped her list where she'd marked it down in ineradicable, everlasting ink. Nobody ever changed houses at Hogwarts.

"But..."

"Please go to your table at once!" McGonagall pointed at the Ravenclaw table."

"No, that can't be right. There's been a mistake."

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall's voice was raised now and everyone could hear it. "You will go to the Ravenclaw table immediately or else report to your head of house for detention!"

Despite herself, Hermione found herself slowly trudging what seemed several lonely miles to her doom. The watching eyes were no longer admiring, they conveyed disappointment, hurt, and confusion – she'd practically sworn as an act of faith to all the Crest members that she'd be in Gryffindor. But Harry's expression was the worst; standing and staring with mouth agape, he looked sick with shock – she'd literally given him her word when he'd been worried about them being separated. And from behind her, she thought she heard Draco's voice muttering to someone: "Well, at least that's wiped the mud-filth off his boots."

She watched Harry sink back down onto his bench, crushed and broken and utterly bewildered. Over his shoulder, she could see Daggard leaning against the wall rejoicing, reading the distress in her expression and sneering at her failure. Could the strange half-hag's magic have been used to tamper with the hat? Having travelled back in time more than a century to relieve Harry's burden of suffering, Hermione's greatest weight of regret would be that she had failed to stay close to her charge.

That flood of remorse swamped Hermione as her knees touched the alien woodwork of the Ravenclaw benches, but she could not bring herself to sit down.

" _Enough!_ "

As McGonagall, the rest of the staff, and the entire student body stared as the outcry echoed around the great chamber, Hermione now knew what she must do. Drowning in an ocean would have been easier but the girl let herself fall back into an abyss of contrition, sliding, sliding backwards forever, these last few minutes...

"Granger, Hermione!" called McGonagall, unaware of the slip back in time.

Magic and matter weakened, Hermione could barely walk to the Sorting Hat stool this second time. The last thing she saw before the hat dropped over her eyes was the trusting gaze of Crest members; as before, Hannah had her hands clasped in prayer. Next second Hermione was looking at the dark interior of the hat once again. She waited – but not so proud and confident this time.

 _Hmm..._ said a small voice in her ear. _Not too difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's wonderful talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting ... but I have never witnessed such a wealth of accumulated wisdom, knowledge, and magical presence! It has to be..._

"NOOOO!"

Hermione realised she had shouted aloud, so quickly began to address the hat through her thoughts. _No. Can't you see? It HAS to be Gryffindor. I won't accept any other house. You HAVE to listen to my choice._

Startled at the outburst, the hat replied, _I take your choice into account, yes, but only to weigh it against the other criteria. Why your experience is so vast, I do not know, but it greatly outweighs every other consideration. You must accept my decision is..._ "RAVENCLAW!"

"I refuse," said Hermione, arguing aloud now and clutching the hat fiercely around her head. "You cannot make me! I'll destroy you! I'll vanish you into non-being!"

McGonagall was struggling to remove the Hat. "Miss Granger! You are, as of NOW, in Ravenclaw and that is an established MAGICAL FACT entered permanently on my list! Nothing, not even Merlin himself, and certainly not vanishing the hat AFTER it has sorted you, can undo that! Now let go of this bluhh— blooming hat, and go to your table at once!"

 _AFTER!_ That was the answer. She must vanish the hat BEFORE it sorted her. She lifted the rim of the hat and stared at Harry's distraught expression. It was enough to cut her to the quick. She let the abyss take her again, sliding... sliding backwards outside of time forever...

"Granger, Hermione!" called McGonagall, precisely as she had before.

Both Hermione's magic and matter were now so weakened that she could no longer stand and began to sag at the knees.

"Granger, Hermione!" McGonagall called again, more sternly this time.

Hermione was aware of a figure rushing towards her. It was Harry – Harry helping her to her feet – Harry, explaining to McGonagall that excitement made Hermione nervous – Harry helping her to the stool...

"Well!" humphed McGonagall as she placed the hat on Hermione's head for the third time without knowing it.

 _Hmm..._ said a small voice in her ear. _Not too difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's wonderful talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting ..._

Summoning what little strength remained, Hermione tried to vanish the hat but it was doubtful she could have done so even verbally with her wand let alone without. _Harry!_ She could feel his arm around her shoulders supporting her! A wild, desperate thought took her. Could Harry vanish the hat? "Har... Har... c-can...?" but her almost inaudible whisper faded to nothing. Drained of all energy, she didn't even have the strength to speak aloud. The idea had been foolish anyway; vanishing was extremely difficult even in fifth year, and Harry had no knowledge of it. No, the Hat was unstoppable without magic. Hermione had nothing left.

 _...but I have never witnessed such a wealth of accumulated wisdom, knowledge, and magical presence!_ continued the hat. _It has to be..._

 _WAIT! The magic of this castle knows I should be in Gryffindor. I shall appeal to–_

Surprised and somewhat affronted, the hat replied, _Godric Gryffindor helped build this castle and its magic, and I am his hat. The decision I declare is independent of all other influences and will be noted down by the Deputy Headmistress – even she cannot challenge me. That entry on the official list is the house in which you will belong and no other! The castle's magic has nothing to do with it!_

 _WAIT! You must consider my personal choice!_ She had to play for time, regain her strength, then vanish the hat before it could speak. Failing which she must prevent the hat speaking even if that meant stuffing her fist into its mouth.

The hat answered, _I do take your choice into account, yes, but only to weigh it against the other criteria._

Hermione felt the first tendrils of magic restoring themselves within her – but nowhere near enough to completely eradicate an object the size of the Sorting Hat – not even a feather could she vanish yet, because the vanishing spell needed substantial magical power that many never mastered.

The Hat continued, _Exactly why your experience is so vast, I do not know, but it greatly outweighs every other consideration. You must accept my decision is–_

A desperate and ridiculous instinct caused Hermione to seize her handkerchief with the intention of forcing it between those leathery lips to gag the hat before it could pronounce her fate. As she did so, something stuck to her hand and, instantly realising what it was, she plunged it into her mouth: it was the final Scoff Drop. Her silent _Silencio!_ was feeble but sufficient for a few seconds to muffle the hat's voice. "GRYFFINDOR!" sneered another strangely-gruff voice in its stead.

Harry helped Hermione off the stool and, after handing the hat to McGonagall, walked his best friend to where she belonged – the Gryffindor table.

Frowning her doubt, the Deputy Headmistress looked accusingly at Snape who glared back at her, as puzzled as she was. The Headmaster responded with a shrug, and, perhaps, a twinkle in his eye.

It was not surprising that the applause for Hermione was only slightly more than average – and that all due to Crest members – yet something momentous had happened. For the first time in Hogwarts history, a Sorting had been thwarted and there was nothing the Hat could do about it. Not even a headmaster was privy to a student's innermost thoughts revealed in this ancient ceremony. The deed was done and McGonagall continued calling names, and the Hat sorted them:

"Goldstein, Anthony!" ... "RAVENCLAW!"

"Goyle, Gregory" ... "SLYTHERIN!"

"Greengrass, Daphne!"

Hermione's head turned so rapidly she almost saw stars. Certainly she couldn't see Neville for a while. Finally she spotted the side of his head cringed down behind Ron's tall frame. Had Daphne goaded him again? Unnerved him? She was smirking arrogantly for the few seconds the hat took to decide:

"SLYTHERIN!"

 _Unfinished business,_ thought Hermione. Humiliating gossip could destroy Neville's confidence and set him back years, perhaps permanently. Somehow, the Greengrasses' effect on Neville had to be neutralised. But how?

When Neville's turn came to be sorted, Daphne seemed to be paying special attention to the boy. She sniggered and turned to whisper to Goyle who was sitting next to her. The girl's shallow surface thoughts practically shouted themselves to Hermione's advanced skills with Legilimency who, shocked by the details of how the young Neville had been treated, became determined that the memory would never be audibly voiced by Daphne.

"Longbottom? What about him?" Goyle was asking.

Daphne looked confused. "Uumm... I used to know him."

"And?" frowned Goyle.

"Erm... I forget." She looked across at Neville as the Hat announced, "GRYFFINDOR!" and shook her head. "Oh well, probably not important," she murmured.

Hermione smiled grimly to herself. She'd not travelled back over a century just to watch scummy, stinky Slytherins ruin the lives of her friends all over again. Her fingers twitched briefly under the table...

"OW!" cried Daphne, and rubbed her nose. If she didn't know better, she'd have sworn someone just tweaked it.

.

Walls Do Have Ears

After the opening feast was ended, the new Gryffindors wearily made their way up to their common room led by Percy Weasley. It had been a long day.

"The stairs are moving!" cried Dean, clinging to the rail for dear life.

Percy called back. "Yes, you'll get used to them. Hurry along now!"

As the stairs swung to align with a new wall leading up from the third floor landing, a row of ancient portraits greeted them. "Welcome to Hogwarts!"

Dean's jaw dropped. Knights in armour, medieval gentlemen and ladies – and even royalty inclined their heads to the newcomers.

"They can move and talk!" said Dean, leaning in close to examine a portrait of a 14th-century queen.

"Yes, and we can hear your comments very well too!" she snapped. "We're portraits!"

Dean backed off with a jolt, almost stepping on Hermione's foot. Neville reassured him that magical pictures were normal. "Good evening, your majesty," he said. "This is my friend, Dean Thomas. He was raised by Muggles so he's new to all this and wishes to apologise."

The portrait inclined her head. "Apology accepted."

Neville steered Dean further up the stairs with the other Gryffindors, whispering, "You just have to learn a little discretion with some of them and they're fine. But be careful what you talk about in the corridors in case one of them is listening."

Hermione nodded to herself. The event did remind her that Neville was definitely more confident than in her previous life and it was only certain females that made him nervous, Susan and Daphne for instance. But he'd been fine with McGonagall and Parvati and was getting used to Hermione herself too. And now even royalty did not phase him – well at least so long as it was a non-threatening portrait. There was hope for him after all.

She smiled knowingly at Harry by her side – though he was happily preoccupied with gazing around now that Hogwarts was fully illuminated and alive with life. However, someone _was_ paying attention to her. She glanced back. Steff Daggard was bringing up the rear not ten paces behind, still puffing on her pipe and leering menace at Hermione. Anyone too close to Harry got the same inspection.

And when they finally settled into their dormitories that night, and Harry, worn out from a long day full of excitement, fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, Daggard was still there, standing in a dark corner, her eyes on the boy upon whom her own life depended.

But at the window, another figure, smaller, slighter, but just as vigilant, was carefully watching the intruder with suspicious eyes. Completely invisible and immaterial, Hermione Granger promised herself, _Daggard, if you ever seriously harm Harry... I'll kill you._ With that she swept away through stone and wood up to the owlery to check that Farrimond was settled in comfortably. Aculus, she already knew, was stationed in the Forbidden Forest – a home-from-home much like the raven's island origin.

Satisfied, Hermione took to her own bed, but it was some time before she finally fell into a troubled sleep.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _A couple of readers have mentioned in reviews that the kids sound a little old for their age. That could be true. When they were younger I was satisfied they sounded okay but I'm not sure how to make them sound eleven. I'm re-reading Philosopher's Stone to see if I can soak up their conversations and let it influence me. Justin is alright I think because I visualise him being raised in an upper-middle-class Muggle family where etiquette and manners are daily fare._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	35. 1:Settling In

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she formed the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now the youngsters are starting at Hogwarts, she has contacted the most trusted members of the old D.A. to form CREST: a new study/defence group. But a ruthless half-hag bodyguard has been assigned to protect Harry in his first year. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 35**

 **Settling In**

* * *

.

First Breakfast

At breakfast the morning after their arrival at Hogwarts, Harry was pleased to discover his schedule was headed with the correct surname. "See?" he grinned at his friends, who were still tweaking and adjusting to their new school clothes and squeaky leather shoes not yet broken in.

"McGonagall must have sorted it out for ordinary documents," said Hermione, eagerly perusing her own timetable and finding it identical to the one in her former life. "It's only the Book of Admittance that uses old magic and has you down as a Black."

"Yes, but I'm still getting some funny looks. It's unfair! Just because some of the Blacks went dark, doesn't mean my family is."

"It's more that you're the Boy-who-lived, Harry. You survived Voldemort, and he was killed – that was–"

"No, I'm used to that. This is different."

She looked around the Great Hall, but the students were busy scoffing hot buttered toast, sausages, crispy bacon sandwiches, cornflakes, and copious amounts of juice and tea, all from medieval-looking plates, dishes and goblets of porcelain, pewter or silver gilt. But not Draco, she noticed. Maybe he was annoyed that the gold service was only brought out for special feasts, because the arrogant boy appeared to have brought his own very smart chalice of silver fused with darkest crystal. He was deep in conversation with Blaise Zabini, but Crabbe and Goyle were not far away. Zabini was shaking his head. For a moment, Hermione thought he was pressing buttons on a mobile phone but for a Muggle-hater like him, that was as likely as Voldemort coming back from hell to beg forgiveness. No, probably Zabini was checking a notebook. A self-reliant loner, she recalled him being as meticulous at organising his day as she was herself. "No, Harry, I can't see anyone looking oddly at you – no more than usual, anyway, girls swooning, that sort of thing."

She giggled, but Harry was pointing upwards. "Owls!"

A very large tawny made a beeline for Hermione, fanning Neville's crispies all over the table with its huge wings. She took the Daily Prophet it had delivered, popped a coin in its pouch, then absently pushed the remnants of her bacon sandwich towards the hopeful bird while letting her eyes skim across the latest headings.

"Anything?" said Harry. "Wait, I know, the famous Harry _Black_ has started at Hogwarts?"

She shook her bushy head and riffled through a few more pages. "Hullo, Bagshot's gone walkabout again."

"Who?"

"Bathilda – oh, Harry, haven't you even looked at the book in the top of your bag? Bathilda Bagshot wrote _A History of Magic._ "

"What about her?"

"She travels a lot – you know, researching for new books. Often disappears for months. Been nearly a year this time though."

Ron forked another sausage into his mouth. " _Dey reckob_ she _discubbered_ _Burlin's Obbyx – dab's_ why she's so _goob_."

"Merlin's Onyx – yes, I heard that too," said Hermione, well-used to translating Ron's mouthfuls, "though others recite, 'Merlin that and Merlin thith – don't you know it's just a myth?'"

But Harry wasn't really listening. There were exciting lessons to go to and a whole new life to experience...

.

Dusty Binns

For Hermione, the first week at Hogwarts was a mixture of delights and drably wasted time: reliving a part of her life she had mostly enjoyed, but also re-attending lessons on subjects she already knew in great detail – that was less than interesting. None more so than History.

One of the wizard illustrations in her Tutomee book whispered, "I can't believe how monotonous this teacher actually is. I mean, I've got nothing against ghosts but he's putting them to sleep with his lack of method! I doubt they'll remember one tenth of what he's saying come test time."

Hermione nodded. "So you think you and your associates can teach them in half the time?"

"Especially with your help, yes, and they'll remember virtually everything because students will revise as they go along, and I will prompt and coach them and help them instead of mindlessly reciting an avalanche of information and leaving them to teach themselves."

"Right. ... Harry, are you ready to start trialing this? I promised Mrs Lovegood we would."

Harry closed his eyes and let his head droop in feigned sleep. "Mmm... eh, what? Sorry, I must have dozed off. Yes, I'll give it a try. Anything's better than dusty old Binns."

Hermione punched him playfully on the arm. "Good, you can study it during the first half of his classes then relax or do Charms homework or whatever you like the rest of the time."

But as Hermione handed him the Tutomee, Daggard, who had been standing behind them and edging closer, grabbed it and began thumbing through the pages. Only when her wand satisfied the half-hag that there was no dark magic involved, did she permit Harry to take it, and backed off.

 _Nothing is going to be easy,_ Hermione sighed to herself.

.

The Night Watch

" _Aculus, Aculus? I know you're there..."_ whispered Hermione. The many birds in the owlery obscured the raven's position but Hermione could sense her familiar's presence.

"I am, Mistress. At the window on your right. Have you a task for me already?"

"I have, but first, anything to report?"

"The shop in Knockturn Alley remains as bland and slow in trade as ever. I have occasionally sensed movement inside as the owners arrive and depart by their own Floo connection."

"I see. Perhaps while you're here at Hogwarts it will be sufficient to check Knockturn only once or twice a month? I have something more important to concern us."

"Which is?"

"No doubt you have perceived Harry's new bodyguard, Steff Daggard?"

"I have, and sense evil."

"Yes, I do not trust her either. At least I'm with Harry most of the day so I can keep my eye on her then. It's at night that I have trouble getting to sleep worrying. She watches him continuously, and I don't know what to think. I know she's capable of terrible acts but I'm unable to determine the real risk to Harry and others. It would put my mind at ease if you kept watch."

"I shall do as you ask, Mistress, but access might be difficult. The nights will be getting cooler soon and I doubt the other boys will appreciate a window being left open."

"You're right. Try the chimney."

"And later in the year? When there's a fire in the hearth?"

"The elves light the dormitory fires early in the evening but allow them to die out after the students retire, only relighting them early in the morning before they arise. If ever you cannot enter, then tap on my window once and I'll bring you in."

"Very well. Let it so be."

"Let it so be," repeated Hermione.

.

Professor Quirrell

Midweek brought the first Defence against the Dark Arts class, and as they gathered outside the classroom, Hermione spoke in a low voice to the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor members of Crest who were sharing the lessons, "Take great care. Remember, I've told you Professor Quirrell was regarded as timid and second-rate but he always had a desire to prove his standing in the world, so he's been away for an entire year gaining experience and learning from... who knows? I mean, he might have been influenced by dark ideas – we can't be sure. I do know he's capable of wickedness if pushed. There's no cause for concern in class, but keep your eyes open and share with us anything you think is suspicious about him."

Terry and Michael exchanged worried frowns. Padma squeezed Parvati's hand to reassure her. Neville simply looked thoughtful but Hannah was anxiously biting her lip. Magic was still new to her, and Hogwarts remained rather daunting.

Hermione realised she'd overstated the danger. They were all still so young. "I promise you there's no need for _you_ to worry. Even if his motives are in doubt, he won't be interested in harming any of us. None of you are in danger, honestly." She tried not to look Harry in the eye as she said that, but anyway, it was doubtful Quirrell could overcome the constantly-vigilant Steff Daggard if he tried to harm the boy.

"Look," she said, deciding to take a stand, "if you trust anything I've ever said, then trust this: Each of you is special. That's why I picked you. Even when you're nervous, not one of you is a coward. Inwardly, I've seen everyone of you reject fear and do the right thing." She did not add, _and saw you die doing it._

Slightly relieved by Hermione's words, their shoulders relaxed – then immediately stiffened as Quirrell himself appeared at the classroom door.

"Come in please and take out your first-year textbook."

His speech was without any sign of a stutter and Hermione had to remind herself that in her previous life, Quirrell's impediment had only been a ploy used like her own lisp to allay suspicions and reinforce the belief that he was still nervous. _So... is he no longer jumpy?_ Hermione asked herself.

Daggard took up her usual position against the sidewall nearest to Harry and, as ever, appeared very alert. Hermione wondered when she ever slept.

Quirrell spoke in a neutral but not boring manner. "Your first-year classes and homework will generally be eight-five percent theory and the rest practical," – Hermione groaned inwardly – "but that proportion will gradually reverse through your years at Hogwarts. Please turn to chapter one."

Hermione's expression lifted somewhat. What Quirrell had said did make good sense, at least for normal first-years. She nodded at Harry as they opened their books. She knew the entire text back to front, but that meant she'd have lots of free time to observe.

But there was little to note over the next hour except that Quirrell's lessons promised to be quite reasonable, informative, and a good introduction to the subject. Perhaps he'd gained both confidence and good intentions from his year-long sabbatical. _That remains to be seen,_ thought the mistrustful Miss Granger.

.

Professor Snape

But for Hermione, Professor Snape's attitude was always going to be the one in which she was most concerned. Would he, like Quirrell, behave differently now?

Her hopes were quickly brushed aside. The atmosphere down in the dungeon classroom didn't help one's mood. It was cool despite the final days of summer remaining warm in the rest of the castle, and sharing the lesson with Slytherins didn't help. Hermione noticed that Neville took a seat near the back on the far side of Ron – as distant and as obscured from Daphne Greengrass at front left as was possible without using a bus ticket. It was a pity he didn't know that Daphne's memory of his awful debagging had been erased, and there was no way for Hermione to tell him without embarrassing the poor boy even more.

As Snape strode through the class from the back, his stride paused very briefly as he passed Harry then he diverged towards one of his many ingredient shelves against a sidewall where he lovingly stroked a jar containing a slimy pickled creature.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity."_

Ron sniggered loudly causing Dean to giggle too. The laughter from several Slytherins and Crabbe braying obscured the direction so that when Snape whirled around he was unsure of the source.

"Potter! We're not here for your amusement. Five points from Gryffindor!"

"But I didn't–"

"Silence! Did I ask you to speak? Make that TEN points!" Snape began to turn away, but without warning he rounded on the unfortunate boy again. "Tell me, Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Erm... would you get the worms, sir?"

Ron, Dean, and even Neville were now clutching their sides trying to hold in their laughter, but Hermione groaned inwardly. Harry had ignored everything they had prepared about being neutral and non-confrontational – perhaps it was her fault for joking on the train. At least she kept her own hand down.

Snape's demeanour became very dark. "TWENTY POINTS from Gryffindor. Any more of your cheek, Potter, and you'll serve a detention scraping last year's cauldrons."

The sneering, scathing bitterness finally conveyed itself to the boys and they realised the teacher was serious. The unfairness of his attitude provoked their frustration and anger. Harry at last accepted Hermione's cautions and he stifled a scowl with an expression of neutral resignation.

But Snape wasn't the only one there sneering at Harry. When Hermione glanced around she noticed Steff Daggard had enjoyed seeing Harry put in his place by an expert player who held all the trump cards. _I wonder what she'd do if Snape tried to curse Harry? Or tamper dangerously with his potion?_ Hermione thought deeply about that. Would Daggard anticipate Snape and strike him first? She was said to have been a very fine Auror indeed, but anyone seriously harming Harry would cause the hag's death. No, Daggard wouldn't stand by if Snape threatened anything really nasty to Harry. If there could be an immediate response it would be measured but very unpleasant for Snape – otherwise, Hermione suspected the Potion Master might be found one grey morning, 'accidentally' boiled overnight in his largest cauldron. The teacher had no idea of the danger he was in.

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the lesson continued. Snape made them work in pairs. Neville was glad now he'd sat far away from Daphne. He and Ron were well matched and had Hermione's preparations to guide them through. It still amazed them how she so often knew what to expect.

Snape had set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticising almost everyone except the Slytherins who, it seemed, could do no wrong.

Fortunately, Harry, Neville and Ron, being already prepared for these first-year potions, there wasn't much to complain about. In particular, Hermione vividly remembered how Neville had seriously bodged his effort in her previous life, finishing up in the hospital wing while Harry had been blamed for not warning Neville to take the cauldron off the fire before adding porcupine quills to the mix.

Hermione studied Neville's face. He was clearly annoyed at Snape's jibes but not nervous – a vast improvement, she considered, but more was needed to apply his natural courage to overcoming a nervousness of certain types of girl. The first weekend began tomorrow; there'd be plenty of free time for Crest to have their initial meeting at school – but first she needed to find a suitable room...

.

Nocturnal Evasion

After buttoning up his pyjama top, Harry scrabbled through his travel chest, then his school bag which lay on his bed, then back to his chest, struggling to see clearly in the candlelight. "Ron, have you borrowed my History Tutomee?"

"No, why should I? I want less History, not more."

"You sounded interested enough when I finished the lesson ten minutes early and read my Quidditch book instead."

"You saying I nicked your book?" Ron's ears were turning pink as he pulled down his coverlet and sat down heavily on his bed.

"Well, what do YOU call it when you take somebody's property without permission!"

"Get Stuffed, Potter! I haven't got your stupid book!" Ron swung up his legs with a "Humph!" and tugged his bed curtains around, shutting out Harry for the night.

"Right, we'll settle this in the morning!" Harry climbed into his own bed, dragged around the red and gold curtains as noisily as he could, then lay back, listening. All he could hear was Steff Daggard chuckling softly to herself. Harry didn't close his eyes but lay there waiting...

Ten minutes... twenty... He could hear Neville snoring softly across the room. Time for action. He sat up, silently drew out his invisibility cloak from under his pillow and pulled it around him. He knew exactly where Daggard would be standing in her corner, so he slipped his legs down past the hangings on the opposite side of his bed. There was barely a flutter as he crawled under his curtains and stood up. _Now for Ron!_

Harry Potter crept quietly around his bed, peering through the darkness to spot Daggard. There she was! He could just about discern the outline of the ex-Auror, but even though her eyes were probably far sharper than his, she would see nothing of him. Closer and closer he crept to Ron's bed on the side opposite Daggard. In his left hand he clutched something smooth and flat to his chest, in his other hand was his wand.

Yet, as he drew near, a faint sign of movement caught his eye through the near-impenetrable gloom. Ron's leg! He was sitting on the edge of the bed facing Harry's way!

Harry crouched down and grabbed at Ron's ankle. Ron flinched and stifled a gasp which he turned into a half-snore – rather cleverly, Harry grudgingly admitted to himself – then Ron's hand grabbed his arm, pulling himself down.

Nothing was said. Ron eased himself under his curtains on the floor with Harry, who wrapped his cloak around the both of them. Daggard saw and heard nothing as they crept out of the door.

Not until they were out past the Fat Lady portrait and way down at the corner of the corridor did Ron whisper, "We did it!"

"Hermione? You there?" breathed Harry as softly as he could.

"Yes, let me under the cloak," she replied.

He did so, feeling rather puzzled, "But why? You're already invisible."

"Call it... for old time's sake," replied Hermione, snuggling in on Harry's side. "Anyway, it will save me using up my magic."

Harry felt Ron's body snort on his other side. "Yeah, like that's going to run out any time this century."

"So, where to?" said Harry.

"Ron told me about a long-disused classroom on the fourth floor," said Hermione, pulling them in the direction of the stairs.

"I did?"

"Yes, the other Ron, I mean. The one who didn't keep trying to hog all the cloak for himself. Anyway, the room is really hard to find and nobody goes there. You found a strange mirror in there Harry, one night when you were on the run from Filch and Snape."

"I did?"

"Yes." Hermione giggled softly.

"Hermione, you're acting very oddly," said Harry.

She sighed. "Old times, Harry. Old times. This cloak and dagger sneaking takes me back a long way. I've missed Hogwarts, I really have. There _were_ some enjoyable moments amidst all the difficulties. Everyone got their wand? Harry, got the map?"

"Of course." He tapped it audibly with the tip of his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

"Who's it showing?" said Ron.

"Mmm... nobody about. Filch is in his bedroom. McGonagall is just adding two spoons of sugar to her cocoa."

"That's amazing!" said Ron. "Let me see. I didn't think it–"

"He's joking, Ron," said Hermione. "You can't see that much detail, just a dot and a name where they are."

Harry said, "Yes but McGonagall's dot _is_ in her kitchen, so what else could she be doing at this time of night but making cocoa? And she looks like a two-sugar person to me."

"Yeah, needs sweetening up a bit," nodded Ron, agreeably.

"The students' names are more squashed together in their dorms. I can make out the names of Neville, Dean, Seamus, and – yes! Steff Daggard still in her corner. We fooled her Ron; we fooled a professional Auror."

"Either that or she's dead," Ron said hopefully. "Yeah, we were good weren't we? I even started to believe you a bit, Harry. You were really convincing. I almost confessed to taking your stupid book!"

"The Slytherins' names are even more crunched up," said Harry. "Probably huddled together plotting something nasty."

"To be honest, I can't imagine those snakes doing much huddling," said Ron. He shuddered and tugged a bit more cloak around his shoulders.

"So the stairs and first floor passageways all clear?" said Hermione, slightly impatient at the distracting banter. She tugged her share of cloak back.

"Yes."

They crept onwards.

.

The Front Room

They passed the library and headed up a flight of rarely-used stairs. The passages that led off the top were not well lit at all and they came to an abrupt halt in front of a tall suit of armour.

"Remember that armour as a guide," said Hermione. "Not far now."

Finally, they arrived at an old wooden door with a faded '4J' nameplate, but found it locked. "Alohomora," she said quietly and the door opened for them.

"Wicked!" murmured Ron. "Promise you'll teach us that spell, next chance you get."

"It's not really a defence spell, Ron. Still, it's got me out of a fix many times so yes, remind me first practice. Be a good one to start with."

The room they entered had certainly not been in use for an extremely long time. Dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls and there was an upturned waste-paper basket made of wicker. Every ledge and sill was thick with dust, and Harry, who had cast a Lumos spell, noticed they'd left footprints all the way from the door. Hermione scanned around quickly with a cleaning charm, half-wondering if the Mirror of Erised might be standing against one of the walls, but in her new life there'd been no reason for Dumbledore to squirrel it away in this forgotten chamber.

She conjured fresh torches for the wall brackets, a fire in the hearth, and soon the room seemed more cheery; it was certainly a good size for their class and study work.

"We'll get all the Crestors in here twice over," said Ron, righting up a few of the chairs and desks with Harry. "And we've space to grow."

"'Crestors'? Yes, I rather like that," said Hermione. " _Crestors..."_

"But we still need to be careful of being found out," said Harry. "We'd be cornered in here if anyone came down that passage." He eyed the door nervously.

"But, Harry, we'll only use this room for genuine student meetings, extra studies, and so on. I told McGonagall we'd formed a self-help group."

"What about our–?"

"For our secret meetings and serious defence practice, we'll use the Room of Requirement – remember the room we stayed in when we came here to get your dad's map? We'll need more than one access door but the main one will be in this room." She walked around, peering into corners and around pillars. "There in that alcove will be fine. Only trusted... _Crestors"_ – she affirmed Ron's new word as if to authenticate it – "will have access. This classroom we're in will be just a front for a our more... covert operations."

Harry nodded. "And Daggard? How am I supposed to shake her off?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know, Harry. For now, she can follow you here for open meetings. We'll have to figure out something else for secret meetings. At least it only affects you, not all of us."

"But Harry's our leader," Ron pointed out. "He _has_ to be at the secret meetings."

He was right of course, but Hermione could think of no easy solution.

.

A Portentous Encounter

A few days later, word went out to all Crestors there'd be a meeting in Room 4J at seven. Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Dean left Harry to make his own way by a circuitous route around the northern side of the castle to make him slightly late. That would give Hermione time to warn the other Crestors that Daggard might be coming and they should avoid speaking too openly. There was also a faint hope Harry might have a chance to slip away under his cloak.

Harry and Daggard passed Goyle at the top of the stairs. Harry thought it odd – even in the short time he'd been at Hogwarts, he'd never seen the boy completely separated from Draco before. But when he looked back, Goyle was gone. Harry pressed on, circling the lower corridors once they'd descended to the ground floor. He pretended to be unsure of his route, glancing down side passages and looking behind him as he walked. Once he thought he glimpsed Crabbe at the far end of a corridor. He wasn't certain, but he still felt uneasy; Hermione had warned him repeatedly about the Slytherins.

"What's up wi' yer? Where yer goin' Black?" snarled Daggard in her harsh tone. "Fink I'm stupid or summink?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder at the ugly half-hag. The Slytherins would never try anything while she was around. He smiled grimly to himself. "Student meeting. I know where it is but I'm not sure of the best way." He started towards the steps which led up the Northern Tower.

Daggard scowled. "Which room?"

"Uuh... don't know the number but I'll know it when I see it."

"Hardly goin' ter be up them stairs, is it! Jest don' try owt, Black. I'm stickin' ter yer like a poxy jinx, an' don' yer– what duh _YOU_ wan' Malfoy!" They both stopped; Draco had just rounded the corner ahead of them and paused in his stride. It was too much of a coincidence, thought Harry.

"Oh, hello, Black. I heard you'd got this... person watching out for you." He gestured disdainfully at Daggard. "Good thinking."

"Malfoy, I'm not a Black, I'm a Potter. The Sorting Ceremony got it wrong."

Draco looked puzzled for only a moment, then his face brightened as if they had some mutual understanding. "Ah... sorry. I understand perfectly. Bloody Book of Admittance is a menace. With your permission, might I call you Harry? Call me Draco."

Harry nodded his acceptance slowly but frowned. "You _know_ about the Book of–?"

But Draco cut him off. "Look, about Professor Snape, he's out of line. Just ignore him."

"Easier said than done."

"I'll speak to my father about him, but I'm not hopeful. Snape's a... well, you know what he's like. Doesn't know his place."

"Sure."

"Well, I have to go. See you around, Harry."

Harry wondered what that was all about as he watched Draco walk away.

"Tell me if 'e giz yer any bovver an' I'll squash 'im," said Daggard as they continued their extended walk to the Crest meeting. "This weren' no accidental meetin'."

"Noticed that, did you?" Harry wondered what Daggard would do to Draco if he actually did become a serious problem.

But Draco soon had other things on his mind. The instant he'd hurried around the corner from Harry, he'd bumped heavily into Professor Trelawney as she came out of the Northern Tower. She gasped and staggered backwards.

Draco growled. "Why don't you look where you're going?" He didn't care who it was; nobody shoves a Malfoy about.

But Trelawney didn't answer him. She scarcely seemed aware that he was there. Her eyes were rolling as though she was about to have a seizure, and when she finally spoke, her voice was rough, monotonous, quite unlike her own:

" _Darkness comes. The beast shall be its only sign..."_

Draco stared in astonishment as the teacher continued her strange recital, then abruptly she fell silent and her head fell forwards onto her chest. Draco thought he heard her make a grunting sort of noise, and peered at her face very closely, afraid the collision had tipped her mind into shock. Without warning, the eyes opened and her head snapped up again, startling him. He stepped quickly back.

"I'm so sorry, dear boy," she said dreamily. "I wasn't paying attention. Did you say something?"

Thoughtfully, he watched for a few moments as she stumbled away, going over in his head what she had said, trying to remember all the words and wondering what, if anything, they meant. _The beast? What beast? And how can something be both equal yet greater?_ Finally, he changed direction and headed up to the owlery...

.

The First Hogwarts Crest Meeting

"Ah, there you are, Harry," said Hermione, as he entered room 4J. "We were just about to discuss the History Tutomee." She patted her beaded bag to remind him she had a stock there.

"Right, erm... well..." Harry found himself looking for a desk to sit at then realised he had to use the teacher's podium at the front. He turned to face the group. They were still only a dozen but he needed to adjust to the formal teaching environment. "Uuh... thank you for coming and..."

"We've done all that, Harry," grinned Ron from the front row with Hermione and Neville on either side of him.

Daggard sniggered and took up a position leaning against the front wall behind Harry – it didn't help.

"Uumm... right. So, I've only just started testing the er... History Tutomee but it's a lot, lot easier than trying to pay attention to old Binns." He reached into his bag, pulled out his copy, and held it up, open at his latest page. "You can see where I've wrote – can you all see that?" He held it higher. "But the rest is blank for me to continue work." He flipped through a few pages. "It's not like a normal textbook, nor a... well it's kind of a textbook, workbook, notebook, all in one – but it manages itself so you don't have to worry about it being a boring organiser or something," he added hastily.

"What are the pictures for?" called out Michael Corner.

"They're magical illustrations to help teach and answer questions. One of them..." He scrabbled back to the frontispiece. "This young witch is Hazel; she listens to Binns lessons so the book is teaching you the same stuff – no, I mean, it's teaching you it's own stuff but–"

"Synchronising the material," called Hermione.

"Yes, thanks, Hermione. You see, it's the words that write themselves in the book that do the main teaching but they are the same subject that Binns is waffling on about too. They tell you facts, and what to do, and you write your response below. If you get stuck anytime you just ask one of the illustrations. Like learning from a friend."

"Erm... won't Professor Binns put a stop to that?" said Susan.

"Actually, you might have noticed that Binns is not all there, if you know what I mean, and I'm not talking about his flesh and blood. The illustrations whisper to you if you're in class, so Binns won't notice – well unless you actually shout at your book or do something daft like that. The Weasley twins told me they threw an old boot through him once and he never even paused – don't know if it's true or not."

"It's true," said Ron.

"And," continued Harry, "my Tutomee told me that even if Binns did examine any of the books, the pictures will hide and the pages will show only notes about his lessons – and it'll be in your handwriting!"

"So basically, we follow the book in class and forget about what Binns is saying?" said Justin.

"Yeah, unless he asks a question or sets a test. You can practise a bit here now to get the hang of it. Imagine I'm Binns. BLAH... BLAH... BORING... BORING..." Harry stared vacantly over their heads.

Ron laughed. "So, can I throw my boot at you?" His grin disappeared when Daggard took a few menacing steps forward to Harry's side. Ron said, "On second thoughts, perhaps not."

Hermione walked round, giving out the Tutomees by hand. She didn't want to advertise her hovering powers, especially with Daggard standing there.

"That Witch Hazel is prettier than Binns anyway, isn't she?" said Terry, gazing at the first picture. The illustration giggled, startling Terry, for the image of the young witch had remained static until then.

"You perv, " scoffed Padma, giving him a nudge in the side of his stomach that made his eyes water. "She's ink and paper for Merlin's sake!"

The picture said, "Yes, you tell him, dear, or I'll have to deduct points from Ravenclaw for inappropriate remarks."

Terry gasped. "Deduct points? Surely _you_ can't deduct–?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out, isn't it? I can certainly visit Harry's or Hermione's book and report misdemeanours, and they can go to your head of house." But while Terry looked around anxiously, she winked at Padma.

As the class began to accustom themselves with responding to the text that appeared in their books, Harry sat down next to Hermione, and said darkly so that Ron and Neville couldn't hear, "Draco was hanging about in the corridors. I'm sure he had Crabbe and Goyle watching out for me. I think he was waiting for a chance to speak to me when you weren't there."

Hermione grimaced. "Did he do anything? Say anything?"

"Spoke to me. Quite polite actually. He knows about the Book of Admittance."

Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh well, his father is chairman of the board of governors. Likely he told Draco."

"Another thing, I thought I heard somebody talking to him after he went round the corner, somebody with a weird, scary voice. A grownup, I mean."

Hermione shuddered, remembering Voldemort's thin, high tone. "Who was he? Where did you hear him?"

"No, it was definitely a woman's voice. It was near that tower off the northern corridor, you know..."

"The North Tower? Then it might have been– oh, no!"

"What?"

"Suppose it was Professor Trelawney?"

"So?"

"She was the one who prophesied Pettigrew would escape and help Voldemort return – your previous self told me she spoke in a strange, harsh voice. What if she–"

"Made another prophecy?"

"Yes, but I can't believe she'd give it to a poncy git like Draco. It has to be somebody relevant." She tilted her head slightly to one side, thinking for a few moments, then gasped. "What if she was meant to tell it to you, Harry? And now Draco knows!"

"Me? Well..." Harry recalled that he did nearly walk up the tower but was stopped by Daggard. "I did almost–"

"Harry," said Ron, turning his way, "this book's only teaching the last lesson we already did."

"Of course it is," said Hermione. "It covers the same ground until the next lesson unless it knows you've already learnt it perfectly. Have you, Ron?"

"Well... pretty much."

"It's up to you, Ron, whether you want to learn it well or just... 'pretty much', but if you follow the book you'll find learning History far easier and far less boring – plus time to spare to relax with a clear conscience."

A new ploy occurred to her. "Think of it as cheating. If you get stuck you need only ask the book; none of the illustrations will ever refuse you. Just say, 'I don't know' or 'you tell me'. It'll just be like asking Harry or cribbing off your shirt sleeve. And they'll never get angry with you no matter how often you 'cheat'."

Ron nodded. "Wow! Right. Since you put it like that..." And he began reading his Tutomee again.

Harry leaned away from Ron to whisper, "But, Hermione..."

"Don't tell Ron but the material he doesn't know will keep coming up in the text until he absorbs it more gradually. He won't even notice."

"No, that's not what I was going to say. Didn't you once tell us that History is too specialised and we'll forget most of it when we leave Hogwarts?"

She nodded. "Yes, but don't let Ron hear you say that either! Unfortunately, we need History to get qualifications and we need qualifications to get jobs and we don't yet know what job we'll have. The whole school system is wrong you see. Likely most of History is a waste of time for nearly everyone, but we have to do the best we can with what we've got."

"I'm never going to want History, not even for the greatest job in the world," growled Harry under his breath. "Potions maybe. I wish we had a Tutomee instead of stinking Snape."

"We'd never get away with using the books in his class – he's too sharp. Sooner or later he'd notice them and test for enchantments. Yes, he'd figure out it was some sort of teaching aid, and confiscate the lot. He's totally despicable."

.

The Howling Horror

Over the next couple of weeks, Hermione fretted about her non-confrontational advice regarding Snape because, if anything, he was becoming worse. It did seem he was determined to get a rise out of Harry, enough to give him a detention.

"Potter! Stop writing letters to your fans and get on with preparing the ingredients! Five points off Gryffindor."

"They're not–" Harry grimaced and stopped himself before he went any further.

"What did you say?"

"I was writing down how to do the ingredients. It helps me concentrate – so I don't miss–"

"Tell me, Potter, what instructions did I give this class not ten minutes ago?"

Harry mumbled, "Prepare the ingredients as shown on the blackboard ... sir."

"Precisely. But you, not seeing yourself as an ordinary member of this class, supposed you could ignore my directive and do as you please! Ten points from Gryffindor!"

Harry's cheeks began to puff up with anger, but Hermione nodded reassuringly at him and he managed not to explode at Snape.

"Granger! Stop encouraging him! Three points from Gryffindor."

Daggard was becoming unbearable too. Even when lessons were over for the day, she was never far away.

"It's like having a leech attached to my neck," moaned Harry in a low voice and trying not to look round the common room. "She's always there and I can't shrug her off."

Ron said, "Yeah, we've not done a single Defence practice session because of her! Hermione, can't you Stupefy her arse or something?" A sudden thought occurred to him, "Hey, Fred! George! Get over here!"

Neville said, "Well, at least we're learning locking and unlocking charms – and a couple of little healing spells."

"But clearing up bruises is not fighting! I thought we were going to have a proper training room."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but still kept her voice low. "We will, Ronald! But I can't set it up while Daggard's around, can I? Apart from secrecy, the moment anyone duelled Harry they'd probably get blasted through the wall!"

"I won't go next time," Harry said quietly.

"What? You have to," said Ron. "You're leader." He gestured again to the twins who were half up out of their chairs but showing reluctance as a matter of principle.

"Yes, so it's my duty to help the group," said Harry. "I'm not saying I'll never go to a meeting again, just that... well, I'll skip a few so you can get started on Defence."

"Oh, Harry..." said Hermione, fearing she had let him down. "I'll really try to think of something to divert Daggard but..."

"But anything you do might kill her," Harry finished in a whisper for her because Fred and George were finally approaching.

"Well, little bro?" said George. "We trust this is an emergency of stupendous importance?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "How do we get rid of that ugly hag?"

"Ron!" Fred threw up his hands in horror. "You mustn't talk about Hermione that way right in front of her! Do what you normally do and criticise her behind her back."

"I do not!"

"So you admit it then? You only criticise her to her face?" said George.

Ron growled, "Shut it you two, this is serious. Listen, how can we get rid of Daggard?"

"You mean legally? Without all the blood?" said Fred, glancing sideways at the half-hag over against the wall. "Needs some thought."

George said, "How about blackmail? Got anything concrete on her?"

"Concrete on her, eh?" said Fred, "now that does have possibilities..."

Harry grinned and shook his head. Hermione smiled too. The twins had not lost their sense of humour but it was not so excessively at Ron's expense.

"Fear then?"

George looked at Fred who nodded maliciously back. "Lure her into the giant squid's embrace, George?"

"I was thinking more of directing her up the Turret of Terror."

"The what?" said Neville.

"Even the Bloody Baron daren't venture up there," said George. "It's the one place we've avoided. "The sound of that beast... the Howling Horror some call it but whatever it is, it's... unworldly."

The lighthearted tone in his voice seemed to evaporate, and his eyes clouded over. Fred, seeing George stumble into silence, continued for him, "They've locked it up now, but it should never have been allowed in a school in the first place in case it bursts out. No lock is strong enough in my opinion."

"But what is it?" said Neville, now sounding slightly nervous.

"Neville, all I can tell you is that it has the ferocity of a wild creature but the cunning of a human hunter. Whatever you do, never speak the Gryffindor password in the passages of Hogwarts or none of us will be able to sleep easy at night."

George still looked pale. When he spoke, his tone was extremely serious. "Ron, we'll give some thought to disposing of Daggard and let you know."

The twins walked back to the table where they had been doing homework, Fred with an arm round George's shoulder. Whether he was trying to comfort him or shake him out of his sombre mood, even Ron could not tell. "They've tricked me a few times..." he began.

"I don't think they were joking this time," said Harry, softly.

Neville said nothing. A chill had crept under his flesh and he shuddered. The castle was ancient. Who knew what was hidden within its walls?

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I'm still not happy I'm portraying these kids to act and sound like 11-year-olds, but I've re-read some of Philosopher's Stone and it's hard to see much difference in the way they speak – maybe it's more about attitude that I'm missing?) Tied in with that is, did they sound too eager to get into a kind of early D.A. without the situation of the original stories (warnings of Voldemort/Umbridge non-lessons?) I've tried to play up the self-help/study aspect of the group rather than teaching them to fight (apart from the core kids like Harry and Ron etc who know that Hermione lived before, and they take seriously the threat to their own future.) Later in this Book 1, there will be more for everyone at Hogwarts to worry about which hopefully will make it more believable they'd be eager to learn defence. Also keep in mind, the chosen dozen were (in my fanon) the ones most ready. I hope it works reasonably believably anyway._

 _Thanks, texan-muggle, for pointing out the continuity error in the last chapter. I had the Grangers going onto platform 9 3/4 when in fact, I'd said earlier, she went alone to Kings Cross (now fixed.) But the grammar point that nine and three-quarters should have capital initials is debatable. I thought so myself originally because it's a kind of title so I'd previously checked the books and JKR doesn't capitalise it (except in a chapter heading.) Maybe she's wrong but I'll go with her. She also capitalises things like her new magical creatures yet they are common nouns whereas existing mythical creatures she uses low case (e.g. sphinx but Flobberworm.) I echo her method for consistency, for example with Tutomee. It might be a publishing thing. By capitalising her invented words (as if proper nouns,) perhaps that stops the publisher's editor changing the spelling? I recall Tolkien had a similar problem with elvish v elven? Something like that. Anyway, I do take care with grammar but don't hesitate to point out any errors you see!_

 _Brian1972 raised the important issue of Sirius not setting rules for Daggard as being unbelievable. My fault for not clarifying. Sirius had no say in the matter. More about the runic oath will emerge later in the story, but for now, know that the oath was a standard form and James accepted it. There is nothing negotiable about it. There are no terms that Sirius can change (ie, insist that Daggard be considerate to everyone.) Sirius's only choice is: Daggard guards Harry or she definitely dies. If he'd said to Daggard, look, if you harm Harry or anyone else then the deal's off, then he could only enforce it through Dumbledore who'd have to remove Daggard and Daggard would die. Maybe Sirius DID do that? No doubt Dumbledore WOULD remove Daggard if anyone got hurt (and he heard about it.) So far, Daggard has only been unpleasant. You can't kill someone just for being unpleasant. Well, not legally or nobly anyway!_

 _One final note: I confess my muse has driven me to write another short story. This is a one-chapter one-shot mystery romance of about 10K words with Luna/Neville versus a young Tom Riddle. It's outrageous, funny in parts but definitely not a comedy. Watch out for that and don't miss it! Coming within a few days. And don't worry – I'm still ahead with Hermione's Chance of a Lifetime._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	36. 1:Neville's Discovery

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she formed the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now the youngsters are starting at Hogwarts, she has contacted the most trusted members of the old D.A. to form CREST: a new study/defence group. But a ruthless half-hag bodyguard has been assigned to protect Harry in his first year. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 36**

 **Neville's Discovery**

* * *

.

Bird Bath

A few mornings after the first Crest Meeting in Classroom 4J, Hermione was brushing her teeth when she sensed a presence enter the bathroom. She stifled a cry of surprise but was dribbling toothpaste down over her chin as she tiptoed to check the cubicles were empty.

"There's nobody in any of them. We're alone. It's safe to talk."

"How'd you get in here, Aculus? I wasn't prepared."

"You knew it was me. I flew in when that girl–"

"Fay?"

"Yes, she just went out."

There was a raven, black as black, revealed himself starkly against the white tiles above the brass water tank on which it perched, splashing its wings and enjoying the sensation.

"No! You ought to have stayed concealed!" Hermione wiped her mouth. "We'd better hurry. Anyone could come in anytime. Had a good night? Anything to report?"

"Nothing unusual. Apart from visiting the toilet or fetching a glass of water, Steff Daggard is the most conscientious sentry I've ever known – not counting us ravens of course."

"It's not surprising, her life depends on it."

"A wonderful incentive."

"But don't start admiring her. In my previous life she murdered Lucretia Prewett during interrogation, then made up an unbelievable cock-and-bull story about Lucretia's concealed wand getting accidentally damaged beyond testing! And there are plenty of other deaths she's accountable for too. The hag is ruthless, so take care."

"Don't worry, she will never see or hear me." He puffed out his chest defiantly – then vanished instantly.

"Hermione, have you seen my hairbrush and– oh, who were you talking to?" Lavender Brown stood in the doorway wrapped in nothing but a towel. Her eyes rapidly scanned the bathroom left and right.

"Round here, dearie," said the wall mirror from her alcove.

Hermione improvised. "Uuh... we've got a Potions test today, remember? I was going over what was likely to be in it."

Only half-listening, Lavender ran to the shelf below the mirror, giggling. "Oh, Hermione, you're such a swot!" She began brushing away at her long locks. "We've not even had breakfast yet!"

As Lavender's hair was drawn back by her brushstrokes, Hermione smiled. The little girl's neck was white and clean of any werewolf bite. After her later flirtation with Ron, jealousy had prevented Hermione from fully appreciated all that the scatterbrain had done in Voldemort's war. Fancying Ron didn't make the girl evil and there had been no excuse to act unfriendly. "You've always had such lovely hair, Lavender..."

Lavender, who had celebrated her eleventh birthday only a few weeks earlier, raised an eyebrow and turned her head slightly. "Always?" She sighed, her mind full of the important task in which she was engaged. "But long hair is such a nuisance every morning."

"Here, let me." Hermione took the brush and began sweeping down handfuls of the longest fronds of Lavender's light-brown curly hair. "Tilt it away like this, see?" she said, "then these mixed bristles move through more smoothly."

Lavender's eyes brightened in the mirror. "Is that magic?"

With a laugh, Hermione said, "No, but I have learned a sheen spell you might like. Luster is wasted on my frizzy mess, but it would make your curls shine like spun gold in lantern light! I'll teach you if you like."

Hermione had to pull the brush away quickly as Lavender whirled around, eyes wide with delight. "Would you! Oh, Hermione, you're the best!" Her hand made an involuntary movement towards a non-existent pocket. "Rats... later then... my wand's in our dorm cupboard."

Hermione shook her head and began working on Lavender's hair again. "You ought to keep it with you all the time."

"Merlin, Hermione! Are you serious! Don't tell me you've–"

"Of course." In one swift movement, Hermione whipped her own wand out of a bathrobe pocket, swished it over Lavender's head – barely even pausing in her brushing – then, realising her own stupidity, deliberately fumbled clumsily and dropped it.

Lavender goggled at herself in the mirror. Even the mirror looked dazed. "Woooowww!" said Lavender. "My hair looks gorgeous!"

"All done," said Hermione, stooping to pick up her wand.

Lavender turned again. "You've totally got to teach me that spell! And is there one for dark reddish brown? Oh, and black with midnight blue highlights!"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "How about... look, some of us have got a self-support group together; it's not all study but help with spells and other things too. You can join in the next meeting if you like. I'll show you then."

"Oh would you!" Lavender seized Hermione's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. "Wait till the girls see my hair!" She ran out squealing, "Fay! Parvati!"

"Remind me never to come into a girl's bathroom ever again," Aculus said dryly.

.

Potions Test

The time for the Potions test arrived and the classroom door was already open when the students began to arrive. The writing already on the blackboard was so small and densely-packed that the board was almost completely white. Hermione wasted no time but attempted to absorb as much as possible before Snape came in the door. She nudged Harry and gestured. "Oh... right," he said, and began making notes too. Soon a few of the surrounding Gryffindors, including Neville and Ron, were unenthusiastically following their lead.

Three minutes passed rather silently apart from the sound of quills being furious scratched across parchment. _Too quiet..._ thought Hermione, glancing sideways. Apart from Draco and Blaise whispering, the Slytherins were sitting very quietly. Occasionally one of them would steal a look at the Gryffindors, snigger, and get a nudge in the ribs from their partner.

But Hermione was too preoccupied to pay them much attention. The blackboard text was ambiguous, complicated, convoluted, and very difficult to comprehend. It appeared to relate to the test conditions and rules but didn't seem to fit very well with anything they had learned so far. Over six minutes had now passed. _Where's Snape? Has he forgotten he's giving us a test today?_

She glanced over her shoulder. Snape had already entered and was stood watching. "Who," he sneered, as he moved forward to the front of the class, "instructed you to copy my blackboard notes?"

Ron began, "We thought..."

"You thought... I see. You thought you would help yourself to get a head start" There were several sniggers heard from the Slytherin side of the room. "That's ten points from Gryffindor for every one of you I saw cheat." With a wave of his hand the blackboard was wiped.

There were groans mixed with sniggers in equal measures but Snape ignored them all. "Who can tell me the most common pre-moisturiser used in oil-based brews?"

A forest of Slytherin arms were quickly raised.

"Nott?"

"Pulped sebaceous glands, sir."

"From? ... Yes, Miss Bulstrode?"

Bulstrode's eyes glazed over as she slowly recited word by word, "Woolly ... ruminant ... cutaneous ... orifices, sir."

"Excellent. For what length of time do we..."

On and on he fired question after question. Hermione mouthed at Harry, "It's rigged! Bulstrode wouldn't know her orifice from her armpit."

Harry grinned and stuffed a fist in his mouth, but his laughter still came out as a buzzy squeak.

"Something funny, Potter? Seems this side of the room is curiously lacking in answers. Let's give the Gryffindors a fair chance then shall we? Tell me, what extra care do we take adding acidic-based compounds?"

Neville's hand went slowly up.

"Nobody? Come now, this is one of the basic principles every first-year should know by now."

 _Yes, if you'd explicitly taught it instead of letting children derive it indirectly from different lessons._

Perhaps her expression had flickered because Snape pounced on her. "Granger! Have you never an answer? Are we to suppose you to be a dunce?"

" _Pleasth, thsir... isth_ it, to do with temperature _adjusthment?"_

Bulstrode and Greengrass giggled together. Neville's hand went down – very, very slowly so as to not attract attention.

"Granger, are you asking me or telling me?" Snape said.

" _Yesth, thsir,_ I think it _isth."_

More giggles.

"You think? Then why wasn't your hand raised?" thundered Snape.

" _Thsorry, I wasthn't thsure thsir."_

Open laughter now was heard from the Slytherins. Greengrass was mocking Hermione's lisp with some hissy noises of her own. Snape made no attempt to silence any of them.

"You ... weren't ... sure." Snape intoned. "In future, Miss Granger, you will attempt an answer and I shall decide the correctness of it! Is that understood? What was that you muttered, Potter?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Then I insist on hearing your nothing. In fact, I think the whole class would like to hear it. Speak up properly this time."

"I only said it's because you're making her nervous, sir."

"Nervous? Fortunate then that the practical side of this test will be the brewing of a nerve tonic. Perhaps we might kill two birds with one stone. Tell me, Granger, why do we never mix ogre pus with rat spleen?"

"I don't know, _thsir_ "

"No? Let's make it really, really _sthimple_ then, shall we? What useful essence can be derived from the pickled tentacles of the Murtlap?"

"I don't know, _thsir_ "

"You ... don't ... know... Anyone? Zabini?"

"Murtlap Essence of course, Professor," sniggered Zabini.

"Indeed. Murtlap Essence. Granger, do you see how we arrive at that answer? We make an essence of Murtlap and because it's an essence and is derived from Murtlap, we call it... Murtlap Essence. Think about it for a few moments if you need to. ... Now, let's try again, shall we? What is the main ingredient of Murtlap Essence? Anyone? Anyone in this part of the room not in front of nor behind nor on either side of Miss Granger?"

Hermione raised her hand, knowing there was no way to win this game.

"Ah! Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Murtlap _tentaclesth, thsir."_

"Correct! At least you won't score zero."

The Slytherins squealed with laughter as Snape swept back to the front of the class.

" _Thscore, thsir?_ You mean...? _Isth thisth_ the _testth?_ "

The roar of laughter from the Slytherins was so loud that even Snape could not completely ignore it. He made a mild wave of his hand to soften their response as he smirked, "As I announced in my last lesson, this test will be in three parts: verbal questions and answers, written theory, and a practical to finish."

"But...!" Hermione closed her mouth. She'd kept her cool all this time but now she was fuming. _If there'd been any announcement it definitely hadn't been in class! More likely in the Slytherin common room!_

Once the Gryffindors knew the test had already begun, they were more forthcoming with answers, though Snape still favoured the Slytherins' raised hands. But the rest of the test – the theory and the practical – went far better. So well for Harry that he was accused of cheating and deducted ten points. And Neville, who normally slipped away the moment the class ended so as to avoid bumping into Daphne, was held back 'for thinking too much when he should have been paying serious attention.' His 'Exceptional' mark was ignored while Snape lectured him irritably.

"You'll never excel at Potions unless you wipe that dozy look off your face and pay attention, Longbottom!"

"But, sir..." It had been the last lesson of the week and Neville was anxious to join the stream of students who'd already left the classroom and were relaxing on their way to their common rooms.

"Be quiet! Perhaps you'd do better away from the influence of Potter and his cronies foolishly joking about. Yes... that might cause you to take my lessons more seriously..."

"But.."

"Get out, Longbottom. You've held me up far too long already. I still have much to do while you, no doubt, will waste your weekend hours jawing and japing with other... Gryffindors." He spat out the last word as if it were distasteful, but Neville had scuttled off the moment he'd heard the command "Get out!"

.

Out of the Frying Pan...

After leaving the Potions dungeon, Neville hurried off as quickly as possible amidst the throngs and strands of hustling students, his mind in a whirl. Surely Professor Snape did not really intend to sit him nearer the front of the classroom? _What if Daphne can see me?_ He stumbled on the steps he was ascending and a couple of fifth-year boys snorted past him. He never even noticed. In his head, all he could hear was her girlish shriek of laughter, see her finger pointing at his shame...

He stopped. He'd not been paying attention and the stairs were turning towards another landing. Looking back down behind him, he could see other kids sensibly waiting for the next turn. With a sigh he continued his ascent, resigned to walking the long way round the next passageway.

But as Neville reached the upper corridor, his pace slowed. Straggled around the far corner of the passage were three girls arguing irritably with each other. In their midst, a pale face stood out like a searchlight, though half-turned away from him. He pretended to pick up something from the floor, rotating to face the other way as he did so. Was that _her_ in the group? Or was he just seeing his personal demon everywhere? He couldn't – he just couldn't risk finding out.

Unnerved, Neville began walking slowly back the way he'd come, forcing himself not to run and draw attention to himself. But far ahead of him was another, darker outline approaching up the turned stairs – Snape!

Looking wildly around for an escape, he spotted a cupboard door on the other side of the corridor and leapt to it. Locked! There was no time think. He whispered the charm that Hermione had been trying to teach all the Crest members:

" _Alohomora! Alohomora! Alohomora!_ " In his imagination, Daphne was turning to look back towards him – about to shriek with recognition – about to point him out to the other girls and tell them – _NO!_ Frantically, Neville squealed and blubbered the incantation, " _Alohomora! Alohomora!_ Please Alohomora?"

The door swung silently inward with the terrified boy pushing in with it. Swerving rapidly he closed the door behind him and, finding himself in complete darkness, blindly attempted both locking charms he'd been struggling with but failed to master. Amazingly, the door lock clicked. Muttering under his breath, he thanked Hermione for her patience in teaching him. Perhaps she'd been right all along to keep urging and persuading people to her views – if only she wasn't so... bossy and cocksure about it.

He shrank down to the floor, waiting in the stillness that now enveloped him, eyes shut tight in hope. Footsteps slowed to a stop immediately outside. Had Snape seen him come in? What if it was Daphne and the other girls? His stomach clenched in fear. What if those girls unlocked the door to see him cowering there! What if he cried like the last time she'd embarrassed him so utterly? He would die – he'd have to – he wanted to.

A faint squeaking sound indicated that the doorknob was slowly turning...

When the doorknob sprang back with a click, Neville bit hard on one lip to stifle his cry of alarm; it had sounded like thunder in the claustrophobic darkness. Outside, an almost inaudible, muttered incantation followed but, although the door trembled, it held firm. Hermione's protective charm had worked! Nobody could get in now or...

How would he get out!

The sound of footsteps receded. Neville breathed again, then quietly tried the doorknob. He was locked in!

" _Alohomora!_ " he said quietly, and without any confidence.

He was not surprised when nothing happened. He squeezed the doorknob around again but the door held firm. Hermione had said her locking spell was charm proof and she was right as usual – she was always far above him, superior in every way. How silly she must have thought him trying to be her best friend. Yet in other ways she was so nice...

 _You great pillock, Longbottom,_ he chastised himself mournfully. _Know what? You can't stay here all night until a search party is sent out!_ He visualised breakfast tomorrow in the Great Hall. Dumbledore making an announcement, asking who had seen him last. Daphne would stand up. "Please sir, we saw him hide in a cupboard." She'd giggle and snigger along with all the other Slytherins as she sat down. The Headmaster would ask her to guide him...

 _NO! I'll wait ten minutes then shout and bang on the door as soon as someone passes. What a prat I'll look!_

He took a pace backwards from the prospect and fell over something: it was a stone step, a whole flight of them leading upwards.

Neville frowned. _This isn't a cupboard._

He felt along the step, found the side wall, and stood up. A chilly presence seemed to be trickling down his back like an icy finger. Had he heard a faint sound? As he strained to listen, he imagined he could hear the wind whooshing far off through open mullions – no, there was no strong wind today, but _something_ then, faintly... moaning and howling far above him, up the winding stairs. Neville held his breath again as, in his head, he could still hear George's voice. _The... Turret of Terror!_

.

The Late Longbottom

Harry, Ron, and Hermione found a side table in the common room and sank down into three of the four seats around it. Daggard took up a position standing further along the wall near the window – but she wasn't looking out. Her attention was, as always, for Harry only.

Harry groaned under his breath and was about to say something rude. He took out his everlasting diary and began writing to Luna but Ginny answered and said Luna was out of the room. They exchanged chit-chat. Harry told her about their Potions test.

"Wonder how long Snape will keep Nev," said Ron. He pawed at the History Tutomee at the top of his bag, wishing it was Potions to help with the study material they'd been assigned. "They should ban homework at weekends," he moaned.

"He shouldn't be long," said Harry. "It wasn't an actual detention. Snape will just give him a rollicking and try to intimidate him. He's such a git."

Ron opened his Tutomee at the front page illustration and asked it hopefully, "Hazel, I don't suppose you know what's are the three alternatives to peregrine droppings?"

The drawing shook her black and white head. "Sorry, Ron, but Potions isn't my thing; I'm a History teacher. Mmm... I know of an 18th century warlock who tried adding cow dung to a purgative but he died of the runs. Doesn't help does it?"

"Not really."

Ron's mind wandered for a while. His eyes rested on Daggard not far beyond Harry's shoulder, then to his brothers. He wondered if they'd yet thought up a way to get rid of the half-hag. Time dozed onwards...

"Here... Ginny wants a word," said Harry, pushing his diary over to Ron who took it, glad of the diversion.

Harry and Hermione began discussing their Charms homework, but Harry seemed distracted.

"Be nice in a few weeks when they light a fire in here," Hermione said to Harry. "More cosy. I love the summer but this sort of... neutral weather feels a bit flat."

Harry nodded. "He ought to be here by now."

"Who? Neville? Probably got lost again, you know what he's like. He'd forget his head if it wasn't screwed on tight." She glanced over Harry's shoulder then lowered her voice to a whisper. "Why not use your... you know?"

"Map!" cried Harry, then seeing Hermione roll her eyes to remind him of Daggard's proximity, he whispered, "Sorry. It's upstairs in my trunk anyway. I'll go up in a bit."

"Harry, can I lend this to Mum?" said Ron.

"Mmm...?"

"Your diary, yeah? Ginny wants to know. Mum's still owling her everyday."

"Yeah, sure."

"And can I borrow Hedwig to send it?"

"Or Farrimond," said Hermione. "Whichever of them is up there."

"Thanks." Ron strolled off towards the portrait door. Anything was better than Potions homework.

.

Facing His Demon

" _Oooooooooowwwwww..."_ came the faint, distant wail of the unseen. The wind sighing through a boneyard could not have been more mournful. _"Oooooooooohhhhhhhh..."_

Panic swept over Neville again and, for a few seconds, he hurled spells at the door which imprisoned him, while softly flat-palm-hammering the door and shouting in a strained, stage whisper for someone to release him without – he hoped – the creature upstairs hearing. Then his legs gave way and he sank down to sit upon the first step. What was he to do?

The sound above halted temporarily, then even more distantly he thought he heard a frail, near-inaudible voice, " _Who cometh? Prithee refrain not, from an act of charity."_

The beast was definitely mimicking human words – and he'd been overheard! The creature knew he was there, and tempting him to surrender.

" _Woe is me... woe is me... shalt mine durance n'er be sundered?_ "

A staggering new thought seized him. Was that Daphne? It had sounded like a female voice. Was a trap set for him? Were those Slytherin girls above him, watching? sniggering?

Neville stared upwards into the blackness. A shudder passed over him. No, whatever it was, the voice was... what had George called it? _Unworldly._

Vampire or ghoul, nothing would persuade him to ascend these stairs. A blasting charm! That would surely get him out of the door! But he'd never properly mastered the spell, and were the Slytherins upstairs or still outside? Was Snape about, standing out there listening? He raised his wand.

The sound of weeping stayed his hand. Had the beast hurt someone? Hermione's admonition came to mind, _Each of you is special ... that's why I picked you ... not one of you is a coward ... I've seen you reject fear and do the right thing._ He peered up the steps, lip-gnawing the back of his fist.

As Neville agonised over what to do, he began to hear a melodious, high voice singing softly:

 _Wilt my true love's heart lead hither?  
Or perish I with sigh and quiver?_

He wondered at those words. _Was it just a ghost? Had her husband forsaken her? Or was she a demonic apparition trying to lure him?_ He'd heard about demons of course – not even Merlin could fight a creature summoned from hell.

Hermione's voice tormented him over and over in his head _...you'll still do the right thing, Neville, I know you will... I know you will... I know you will..._ Eventually, he'd have to face Hermione – and he wouldn't be able to lift his head if he failed now.

Forcing himself to ascend the steeply winding steps, he held his wand blindly in front of him with one hand while the other felt for the next step. The total blackness protected him but made his skin crawl, while strange odours caused his nose to wrinkle up. Old parchment? Leather? Ink? Finally, he could not find any more steps ahead of him so he crept cautiously forward on hands and knees, then stood up.

Utter darkness was upon his skin, penetrating his flesh. The voice was silent now; was the ghoul listening for his approach? Waiting for him to step into a trap?

"Hast mine saviour come hence to deliver me at last?"

Neville froze. The high-pitched voice sounded close by, and its faint ambience indicated he was in a small chamber. But not one window relieved the blackness, nor his fear.

Tentatively, he replied, "Who are you?"

"Why, I am Princess Etherea of Gallinaceum. Trapped am I in this lonesome tower by an evil necromancer and his fearsome dragon. Are you a knight, sir? Might you slay the beast with your sword and bring low the sorcerer? Helpless am I before his base intentions."

Neville frowned. She wasn't making much sense. "Why haven't you just walked downstairs and banged on the door?"

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Fettered am I by chains most cruel. They cut my tender flesh and mar my perfect beauty."

It was Neville's turn to gasp. "I have a wand. Perhaps I can free you with the unlocking charm."

He took a step forward and stumbled over what felt like a wooden chair. "If only I could see what I was doing... where are you?"

"So close, yet shalt I n'er be freed? Oh woe is me, woe is me... Ooooooooohhhh..."

Neville was racking his brains. If only there was a wall torch he could light with his– "Ah!" he cried, slapping his forehead and cursing his forgetfulness in dire need. He fumbled for his wand. "It's alright! I know how to cast a light spell!"

"PRITHEE, NO!" cried the voice. "For he who gazeth 'pon my exquisite countenance shalt be dazzled. Unless, that is... art thou a prince? A knight at least? A great mage warrior?"

"Sorry, I'm just Neville Longbottom."

Another gasp from the dark. "Noble and just! I have heard of thy brave deeds, Sir Neville! A glimmer then I offer thee, but no more, lest thy sight be burnt forever with my magnificence. Yet avert thine eyes directness or surely thou shalt perish."

Worriedly, Neville turned away before casting the feeblest gleam he could. Its glow barely reached the walls but he could see the room was round and cluttered with dust-sheet-covered furniture. Strange apparatus and equipment adorned the many shelves and open cupboards around the walls. Off to his left, from where he had first heard the voice, a slight movement of colour caught his eye. Slowly he twisted his head around to peep out of the corner of one eye...

Puzzlement gave way to astonishment. A very wide painting extended half around one curving sidewall; it was a countryside vista dominated by a tall citadel. From the window of its nearest turret stared a wide-eyed, elegantly-poised girl. She might once have been pretty but her eyes were dark with some hidden sorrow. Long ringlets of shining yellow-gold hung out theatrically over the sill, Rapunzel-like, yet her head was topped by a shabby witch's hat trimmed with a gilt ribbon round its brim. Seeing his critical scrutiny, the girl adjusted the hat's slant to a more regal attitude.

"My crown was handed down by noble kings and queens of old to my charge. I would fight a most bloody fight with any man that durst try for it!" She tilted her chin proudly then quickly grabbed at the hat which, too large for her, was slipping backwards.

Neville smiled and relaxed. She was simply a child playacting. "Erm... fain wouldst I e'er... uh... purloin my lady's property. Forgive me, Princess, but my eyes canst scarcely rest long upon thy wondrous visage."

Etherea beamed. "Then shalt my trusty knight slay the awful dragon Brawnscorcher? And duel the evil Rankodor the Bloodymost? Even though the black and dismembered corpses of thine hopeful predecessors – six in all – already rest yonder in their sepulchres? What say thee, brave Sir Neville?

Neville seized a long metal lever off the floor and brandished it over his head. "A dozen Brawnscorchers and a hundred Rankodors wouldst I meet in battle to win thine hand, fair Princess!"

There was a strange new light dawning in Neville's eyes. Never had he met such a surreal playmate as Etherea before; he was caught up in an excitement he had never experienced – not even playing pirates with Harry, because here there were no consequences whatsoever.

"Approach then, Brave Neville, that I might grant thee this boon of sacrifice."

Neville moved closer to the picture. As he did so, the magical coloured oils spread wider until the painted turret's window almost filled the picture frame. His eyes widened. "I've... I've never seen a painting as good as this before!"

"Painting?" Princess Etherea frowned in puzzlement.

"Uh... I mean... erm... window! I've never seen such a window. It doth frame thy glory like erm... a picture doth... er... doo...eth."

And the painting was, he now realised, designed to represent a window view. Thickly-painted with heavy daubs of oil, it was rich, colourful, bright as day, and this near, it entirely encompassed his vision; he felt drawn into and immersed in it.

He said, "How do you... what do you do... erm... all day?"

"Why, all that one might expect of a princess of my standing, of course! I sew. I read. I sing – would you like to hear me?"

"I'd love to."

Neville's responses to her strangeness came easily to his lips now. Enraptured, he sat upon a stool and listened to her lilting voice as it softly caressed his ears. And then they talked. For an hour or more he was lost to the world, utterly forgetful of homework and... "Dinner!"

He stood up so abruptly his stool fell over. "I just remembered. I have to go to dinner."

"But shalt my trusty knight e'er return? Should he endure until the seventh day of the seventh month to earn a kiss from these luscious red lips?"

"I will! I promise!" Neville called over his shoulder as he dashed back downstairs, his head full of daring ventures, and outrageous quests. Nothing seemed impossible to him now! Nothing, except...

He came to a stop before the turret door. He was still locked in! Yet there before him had been the way out all along! Upon a narrow ledge beside the door lay the key glinting in his wandlight. If only he'd remembered the Lumos spell earlier he might have... _I might never have met Princess Etherea!_

Seizing the key, he fumbled open the door, relocked it with Hermione's special charm, and raced away, key in his pocket like a trophy, and heart alive with elation as never before!

.

Happy Talk

Ron had taken his time up in the owlery. When he came back into the Gryffindor common room, Harry looked up. "Ron, did you see Nev anywhere?" Ron shook his head. "Erm... is this for you?" He held out a small, tightly wound scroll to Hermione.

Absently, she took the message and fiddled with the seal. "Now _I'm_ starting to worry too," said Hermione. "He's never _this_ late straight from classes. Surely Snape didn't give him instant detention? Think he went to the library? He never said he would. ... It'll soon be dinnertime."

"I'll go up... you know..." mouthed Harry, gesturing to the stairs.

Hermione nodded. She watched Daggard follow him and wondered whether she should go with them. She started to rise but Ron put a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down. "Who's Rosemary?"

"What?" Hermione jolted upright in her seat and examined the name on the outside of the scroll she held: _Rosemary Brown, Hogwarts School of Magic._ "Where did–?"

"Farrimond. Another owl flew in while I was up there and gave it to Farrimond. They've got a language of their own I reckon. Anyway, Farrimond pestered me to take it so I asked him if it was for you and he, you know, made that sort of positive hooty tilt of his head."

Huffing a little, Hermione said, "He should have waited till breakfast to bring it to me in the Great Hall." But she paused as the wax seal finally yielded to her fingernail. "Well, it proves one thing, I suppose..."

"What's that?"

"Farrimond trusts you, Ron. That's rare – for owls to trust anyone but their owner."

Ron's eyebrows lifted. "So, who's Rosemary then?"

The Fat Lady portrait opened and Neville came in whistling softly out of tune. He spotted Ron and Hermione and made his way over, dropping his bag on the floor before taking a seat.

"Get lost again?" said Ron. Hermione took the opportunity to slip the message into a pocket of her robe.

Neville blinked. "What? Uuh, oh yeah. Went the long way round. Mmm... portraits held me up – always eager for a chat some of them."

Hermione began, "You're not obliged to–"

"–But it's only polite, isn't it?" said Neville. "I mean, some of them are royalty. Yes." He beamed at Hermione, then at Ron.

Hermione looked at him oddly, but just then Harry came jogging downstairs with Daggard not far behind. "Hi, Neville. Ready for dinner?"

"Yeah!" said Neville brightly. "I'm famished."

It was noticeable to Hermione that Harry didn't seem surprised to see Neville there; he'd barely had time to glance at his map. Perhaps he'd heard his voice up the stairs. She said, "You're quite cheerful, Neville. What did Snape say?"

"Snape? What do you mean?"

"He held you back after the Potions test?"

"He did? Oh, yeah... oh, he just waffled on about me thinking or smiling or breathing or something. Doesn't like it if anyone's happy – but who cares!" Neville's grin was as wide as his face. "All he's going to do is..." Neville's voice faded away as he remembered Snape's threat to make him sit elsewhere in class. "Nothing important," he finished gloomily. "He's going to do... nothing."

But then something wonderful happened...

"Who cares!" cried Neville with a broad grin. "Let's go to dinner!"

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _In case you were wondering, Hogwarts bathroom mirrors may be cheeky but they are discreet when necessary. I mean, everyone would avoid them if they snitched on all the happenings and conversations. Also Aculus was not directly seen because the mirror is in an alcove round a corner._ ;)

 _The story begins to get more complicated now. I've plenty of notes but it's a struggle to keep track of all the necessary events at the right time. Now I understand why JKR is using a spreadsheet – three of them as I recall!_

 _Writing trivia I just discovered while editing this chapter: If you touch type the word girl but with your hands accidentally one key to the right of the home keys, you get hot; not many people know that._ :D

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	37. 1:Losing It

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now starting at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the most trusted members of the old D.A. Meanwhile, a ruthless half-hag has been assigned to bodyguard Harry in his first year, and Neville has finally made best friends – with a girl in a painting. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 37**

 **Losing It**

* * *

.

Contacting Rosie

The little scroll addressed to 'Rosemary Brown' practically burned a hole in Hermione's pocket through dinner, so anxious was she to read it. But Ron appeared to have forgotten its delivery in the owlery as he began a delicious roast chicken meal at the Gryffindor table, and Hermione was not going to remind him by any furtive reading. No, she waited patiently until they returned to their common room, hoping for an opportunity. Harry went up to his dorm to talk to his parents through his two-way mirror; he was missing them. Neville wandered out of the room again – rather too nonchalantly, Hermione thought as she watched him go. Ron was already beginning a game of chess with Dean. Out of his eyeline, Hermione swiftly went up to her own dorm to read the letter. It was ultra-brief:

 _Who named us? – Cath_

Only the Cathesis League knew her as Rosemary, Hermione knew. Evidently someone had thought it likely she was attending Hogwarts but was taking care not to compromise her if the message fell into the wrong hands. Although an agreement had been reached that she would contact them monthly, this note suggested something too urgent to wait. Quickly, she scribbled a reply:

 _Vera gave the name Cathesis to the League. My owl has informed yours so it can come direct in future but please address to 'Rosie' which I can pass off as from a casual friend. Hope all is well?_

Not that Hermione had any real hope that all was well, as she dashed off to the owlery. The League would not have contacted her unless there was a problem.

She was right of course, and the message that arrived at breakfast the next morning confirmed her fears:

 _Rosie! We have knowledge that Steff Daggard was recruited to guard Harry Black (who you probably know has started at Hogwarts this year.) You might recall the hag's name was mentioned at one of our meetings. Barty plays it down but I know her to be deadly! Long ago she swore she'd be the one to arrest (or kill more likely) You-know-who himself. Ever since the dark wizard died while trying to curse Harry (Potter as he was then,) she's held a bitter grudge against the boy for robbing her of the glory, and she's almost certainly waiting an opportunity to get her revenge without being caught! Keep an eye on the evil creature but take great care not to cross her. - Jop._

"Who's that from, Hermione?" smiled Harry as he sprinkled sugar on his cornflakes.

 _Next June..._ thought Hermione, _She'll strike next June once her year is up and she knows she's safe from the oath!_

"Hermione?"

"Hmm...? Oh, it's from an old school friend."

"By owl?"

"Erm... yes, Mum sends them on."

"Without Farrimond?"

"Uuh... when she goes into London, she's sends them from the owl post in Diagon Alley."

"How's she get in?" crunched Harry, reaching for another spoonful.

"Oh, uh... they know her in the Leaky. Tom knows her and lets her through."

" _Bub howb_ do–" Harry froze, spoon in mouth after one glare from Hermione. He swallowed, then whispered, "Ah... secrets. You should have said, erm... _Rosie_." He grinned and munched at the same time which wasn't pretty.

"How much did you read?"

"Nothing – only the name on the outside of the scroll." He gave a low chuckle. "It's alright you know. I don't mind you having secrets. I know you do other stuff."

"You do?"

"Of course. That's why you came back isn't it? To save the world?"

Hermione stared at her friend for a few moments as he scooped up more cornflakes. "No, Harry. The only reason I travelled back through time was for you – just for you. That was sort of what made it all happen."

His arm dropped and the spoon clunked onto the cereal dish, sploshing milk. He saw something in her expression and in her eyes he hadn't seen before. "Wow! We must have been really, really best friends."

"We were, Harry, yes, we were." She reached out and wiped milk off his chin with her finger before rolling up the message and stuffing it away in her pocket.

.

Aculus's Window

As October approached, the weather grew cooler. Fires were lit, and Aculus complained he'd not been able to descend the chimney into Harry's dormitory until almost midnight. Furthermore, as the nights became colder, Aculus had seen Steff Daggard prowling about the chamber and the raven wasn't convinced it was merely to keep warm.

Hermione turned from gazing out the owlery window and frowned. "But Harry wasn't approached too closely? She's not cast a subtle Imperious or tracking spell on him?"

"Not in the time I was there."

"Harry has been rather quiet these last few days; I'd better check him over. The hag is obsessive about his safety and she might have influenced him magically. Look, I've an idea. I'll vanish one of the upper window panes – those little diamond-shaped ones – and protect it from the cold wind. You can squeeze through one of those, can't you?" – Aculus inclined his head in confirmation – "Then you can get in as soon as Harry goes to bed and not have to wait for the fire to burn out."

"Excellent!"

"And Aculus, be extra vigilant. Daggard might sound thick but she's very experienced and, I think, pitiless."

"Don't worry, Mistress, if she makes any attempt to harm Harry then I shall divert her, rouse everyone, and summon you."

"Thanks, but take extra care of yourself too. Even I can't Apparate instantly to you within Hogwarts."

"Me?" With some indignation but not even a whisper of sound at all, the raven wafted his wings. "Only you can sense my presence when I'm concealed."

.

Neville and Etherea

Ron wiped the grease from his breakfast plate with the last piece of fried bread, popped it in his mouth, and said, "You alright, Harry? You sometimes look a bit gloomy these days."

"Me?" Harry glanced up from staring at his tea, then he swiftly drank the remnants and pushed himself back to show he was finished. "Sure... I just... erm... it's just not being able to join you in Defence practice yet. I'll be okay."

Hermione was half-listening, half-watching the activity around the hall. Draco had a different chalice of dark jet today, she noted idly. Zabini appeared disinterested in what Malfoy was saying. Crabbe had dropped half his sausage and it rolled off the table onto the floor. He dived after it, rubbed it on his sleeve, and continued to eat it. A flash of light caught her eye. Draco was drinking from his silver goblet now – no, it was the same one, half dark glass on one side of the bowl. How pretentious.

Ron lowered his voice. "It's that bloody hag, isn't it, Harry? I'll have another word with Fred and George."

Hermione, who had been observing Zabini move away from Malfoy to sit alone, shook her head. "I don't see what the twins can do. If Daggard is hindered in any way from protecting Harry then she dies. Cold-blooded murder is a dreadful act and scarcely ever justified except perhaps to save another life." For a few moments she struggled with old memories that continued to haunt her, then she shrugged them off.

As they rose to leave, she turned to Harry, "When we get out in a quiet corridor, I'll run my wand over you again just to be sure."

"I'm fine," protested Harry.

"Can't be too careful. Daggard might have used a subduing hex on you to prevent you becoming too excited or reckless."

"I told you, there's nothing wrong! You only imagine it that way because Neville's more high-spirited now he's at Hogwarts."

And he was right. By comparison, Neville was transformed. Even after being placed at the front of the Potions class, he seemed unconcerned about Daphne's proximity only a few desks away. Snape tried all he could to unnerve the boy but the most he could find to complain about was Neville whistling a tune as he went out the door to his next class. Finally, Snape, sick of the sight of this new, cheerful Neville, banished him to sit back with Ron and the others.

But Neville had a secret, and he wasn't about to share it with anyone. Finally, he'd found the best friend he'd always wished for, one with whom he could completely relax, someone who placed no real demands upon him, and who would listen for hours without criticism.

"Fain that I ne'er lose thy good company, Sir Neville."

"You shall not, Princess," smiled Neville.

He now sat so close to the painting's magic that its oils expanded softly within the picture frame to zoom him inwards so that he might more closely see the princess within her chamber. As she walked, her long golden locks were drawn inside the window and streamed gracefully along the floor behind her. Indeed, it seemed to Neville as if she turned about more often than was needed, glancing to see if he was watching.

Each time he visited – which was at least daily, and more when he could – there was a growing sense of two turrets in different worlds almost touching. True, he could not quite reach across, but the fine stitching in her blue velvet gown, and every delicate pale eyelash, were as clear to him as if they shared one room.

"It would please me if you addressed your princess as Etherea, my good knight – except upon stately occasions before my court when it would not be appropriate."

"Etherea... thank you, yes, it's a lovely name."

Perhaps they talked of nothing of consequence, but to Neville, they held sparkling discourse on the universe and their special place in it – together it always seemed to them. The first week he had been certain Etherea had once lived as a mere commoner, or a lady-in-waiting from some bygone age who liked to play princess and wear a pretend crown. The second week he was less concerned either way about her possible lack of regal status. By the third he didn't care at all and saw her shabby, gilt-ribboned hat in the childlike way it was meant to be seen: as a truly royal crown. To him she was as vivid and caring as anyone he'd known – and in that sense, had once been real, and therefore still was. There is no deceit in make-believe that is shared.

Etherea talked to him of her father's various palaces, the many banquets she had attended and the grand estates the king hunted in season. In turn, she was entranced by his descriptions of Hogwarts castle, details of his lessons, and the fascination they both had with magic.

Neither of them considered the future.

.

A Friend In Need

It was mid-October when Aculus went missing. Anxiety clutched at Hermione's heart, compelling her to spend most of a weekend in the owlery, listening to her own senses and searching the skies. With Neville mostly absent elsewhere in the castle, and Harry unable to avoid Daggard, Ron was despatched to bring her food and drink.

"Who's message are you waiting for? Must be important," he said as he delivered a bag overly-packed with supplies from the kitchen.

"Family," said Hermione. "It's... a bit personal."

"But don't they use Farrimond? He was here earlier."

"I sent him out again."

To his credit, Ron sat with Hermione for an uneventful hour. Perhaps Harry had persuaded him to stay with her or possibly Ron had tired of Harry's dark mood into which he was withdrawing more and more. She felt odd to be alone with her ex-husband for so long, though he was significantly different than formerly.

"There he is!" cried Ron, and sure enough, Farrimond winged in through a window and displayed such agitation that Ron was perplexed.

"What's wrong with him? Reckon he lost his message? Hungry?"

Ron offered the bird a scrap of bacon rind from Hermione's discarded sandwich. The owl seized it, nipping Ron's finger in the process, but instead of devouring it, immediately flew out once more, leaving both Ron and Hermione to be astonished together for different reasons.

"Enough!" Hermione snarled under her breath after realising what must have happened. _Nobody attacks my familiar and gets away with it!_

Ron expressed the view that the owl had mated in the Forbidden Forest and wished to feed its young. Hermione however, scrabbled in the kitchen basket to gather together the best scraps she could then added a few drops of healing potion to them. The whole she wrapped in a loosely-tied handkerchief which she'd dowsed liberally with dittany from a bottle in her beaded bag.

"What's that for! Will he carry that? Why are you crying?" cried Ron. He paused to think. "Don't you know where your family is? You can't follow him, you know. Owls won't let you – not even your own owl. Not for anything. It's their magic. They'll never lead anyone to–"

"I know, Ron! Look, give this to Farrimond when he returns."

"Me? Where are you going then?"

"Tell Farrimond to apply the hankie to Aculus if he can!"

"What! Who's Aculus? And how can–?"

"Promise me, Ron! _Apply the hankie."_ Hermione went to the inner wall of the owlery and braced herself.

"Okay, okay, but where you going!"

"I'm going to Stupefy the hag's arse, Ron. That's where I'm going."

Ron blinked as Hermione melted into the stones of Hogwarts and disappeared. "Wish she wouldn't keep doing that," he muttered to the nearest owl.

.

Hermione Thrashes Daggard

Steff Daggard had seen it all. A hardened Auror, she'd met the worst kind of dark witchery – and bested most of them. But she'd never dealt with anyone like Hermione Granger. Yes, her instincts were aroused by the sudden quietness of the passageway down which she was following Harry to the library. And yes, her wand came out even though there was no visible or audible danger. But that weapon flew from her grasp before she could find a target, and the blows that rained upon her body brought her quickly to a low crouch, groaning and clutching at her stomach.

Hearing the sound of an angry beating, Harry spun around in alarm. Steff Daggard appeared to be performing a form of low dance: one arm flailing wildly as if fighting off a horde of wasps, a knee on the floor, face contorted in severe pain and yes, fear. Harry began to cautiously approach then stopped. He knew who it must be: Hermione was pummelling the hag with battering hexes. What was his part to play? How might he protect Hermione from any suspicion? And himself!

"What's going on?" he called, feigning ignorance. "Is that you, Peeves!"

All that saved Daggard from hospitalisation was Hermione's knowledge the semi-hag would die if she were not able to offer Harry protection. The girl relented, flew to Harry, and whispered in his ear what to say.

Harry called out, "I think it's a warning. Something stalks this old castle. You must have done something really bad to annoy it."

"Wotcha _feggin'_ on about!" gasped Daggard, trying to stand.

"Peeves isn't the only dark spirit here; there's one called Attila or Achilles or..." Harry frowned and scratched his head just how Hermione was coaching him.

Daggard was now leaning heavily against a pillar, taking deep breaths. "Aculus? Ain' it Aculus or _summink?"_

"Yeah, maybe something like that."

Daggard pulled a parchment from her pocket. "Nuffin' 'ere now," she said, sounding relieved. "Gimme 'arf a mo', will yer?"

The half-hag limped around clutching her side, searching for her wand which she eventually found where it had rolled against a wall. "I'll kill the _fegger_ if it tries _owt_ like that _agin!"_

"You can't kill what's already dead. If you try then it'll probably finish you off." There were no more whispers in his ear; Harry was improvising now. "Yeah, it's an evil little thing that spies on people. I wouldn't mess with a dark spirit if it were me."

Harry resumed his walk to the library with Steff Daggard hobbling after him, a scowl on her already hideous face.

.

Missing Possessions

"Why didn't you tell me that Daggard took your map, Harry?" Hermione said quietly when he discovered her already in the library, apparently scanning the first row. "Don't tell me you gave it to her willingly?"

Harry took a book from the nearest shelf and pretended to browse, glancing sideways now and again to make sure the hag was still sitting at one of the library's many reading tables. Daggard was wiping her face which, together with her hands, were about the only part of her body not covered in bruises. There was no indication of her painful injuries other than the sweat on her brow and a sort of hunched up look about her.

"She stole it from my chest one night," Harry said mournfully.

"This is why you've been so miserable this past week, isn't it?"

"Will Aculus be alright?" he said.

Hermione sighed. "Aculus must be very badly injured, probably semi-conscious or he'd have summoned me. I've no way of finding him unless he recovers enough to call me to him."

"I'm sorry, Hermione." Harry turned several pages rapidly to smother his sniffles. "It was my stupid fault. I should've kept my mouth shut and been more careful. I've only used the map once or twice, I think. It must have been that time we were wondering where Neville had got to. When I saw on the map that Neville was already back in the common room, I sort of became excited and rushed downstairs. I think that's when Daggard suspected I'd got something special."

"I'll get it back for you, Harry, I promise. But if I just take it then she'll only suspect that you–"

"–No! don't!" Harry smothered his cry and raised the book close to his face, shaking his head as if in disbelief at something he'd read. "What! This book doesn't make sense!"

Daggard didn't even look up. She was in too much discomfort to be her normal vigilant self, especially in an environment as safe and public as the Hogwarts Library.

"Harry, you must practise that special locking charm I taught everyone until you get it right. It'll block all unlocking spells so only your chest key will work. Maybe I should do it for you. Daggard will never be able to take anything else from..." Her eyes widened. "She's not taken anything else already has she?"

Harry shook his head, rather sullenly, Hermione thought. "Harry...?"

"Just that stupid oath and..."

"And what, Harry?"

"My invisibility cloak."

Hermione groaned softly. "I thought there was more to it than just the map. You've been really low. Cheer up. I'll get them back."

"Don't, Hermione," whispered Harry.

"Why ever not?"

"Just don't." And Harry took his book and went to sit by his bodyguard.

Knowing she'd been dismissed, Hermione returned to Ron in the owlery, but she couldn't help wondering what else Harry was hiding, and why would Daggard steal the runic oath? Destroying the parchment on which it was written wouldn't wipe out the obligation itself, the half-hag must know that.

.

No Trace

Hermione examined Farrimond carefully for clues: wet feathers might indicate Aculus was down by the lake, a beech twig would suggest the Forest.

"You won't find anything," said Ron. "Wizards have tried before. It's owl magic. They don't even fly direct so you can't follow them. Some say that once out of sight they travel through mystic sky tunnels, but nobody really knows how they travel so far and so fast yet without being followed. You just can't track anyone by sending them an owl."

Hermione nodded. "I know really, but I was kind of hoping there'd be something."

"So... Aculus is your familiar. That's cool. A raven is really cool." Ron kicked some owl droppings across the floor. "And you thrashed the hag good?"

"I'm not proud of it, Ron. I was just so upset. I can't forgive her for attacking a poor defenceless creature."

"Well, in fairness, she wouldn't know that. You said Aculus was invisible? Just a name on the map? It might have been anyone or anything. The hag must have panicked and cursed out blindly."

Ron's comments didn't make Hermione feel any better. She growled at him. "Yes, and it might have been a student. Daggard might have killed a child or..." She broke off, head drooping.

Ron tried to comfort her. "Aculus must be alive. You'd know if... if the bond was broken. Charlie told me a bit about familiars."

Hermione nodded, but there were fresh tears glistening in her eyes. Aculus had died for her once before; she couldn't bear it if he did so again.

.

Is a Friend In Deed

Sunday was almost over before Hermione felt the pull of her familiar's invocation. There was no way to Apparate directly within Hogwarts boundaries, but the direction of the pull was unmistakable: the Forbidden Forest. She headed out into the darkness, pausing only occasionally to get her bearings.

The raven was not far within the Forest's edge, collapsed within the roots of an oak. Brave Farrimond was guarding him against the creatures of the night, keeping watch uneasily on the forest floor and ready to divert anything sinister away from the helpless bird.

A broken wing was quickly healed by Hermione's spell, then she could gently lift him high into the knotty fork of two stout branches; here she knew both raven and owl would instinctively feel safer. The young witch spent a long time magically scrutinising the raven for every type of injury.

"I am grateful, Mistress," said Aculus weakly.

"Hush... you need rest. You too, Farrimond – when did _you_ last sleep? I'll stay till daylight; you should be mostly healed by then but do not attempt to fly for another day."

"I failed you, Mistress. I do not know how."

"No, you did not fail. Harry has a map that reveals everyone present in Hogwarts. Daggard stole that map and saw your name on it. She still has it. If you choose to continue keeping watch in the dormitory then if you see her take out a parchment, fly under Harry's bed. His name will obscure yours. Even if she suspects, she won't throw a curse in Harry's direction, giving you plenty of time to fly outside if necessary."

.

Ron's Dream Comes True

As Hermione made her weary way to breakfast the next morning, she became determined to take out Daggard at the first opportunity. How, she did not know, but, as she grumbled in a low squeaky voice to Harry and Ron over their first cup of tea, "An attack on a witch's familiar is an attack on the witch herself."

Across Ron's shoulder, she saw Neville watching them – no, looking _through_ them with a dreamy smile playing upon his lips. He didn't seem annoyed in the slightest that he was excluded from their whisperings. In fact, Hermione would have shared more of her knowledge with him, including her having a familiar, if the occasion had arisen. But he'd been negatively distant before Hogwarts, and now, well... positively in a world of his own.

"What is it with Neville?" she murmured.

"I think he's gone soppy on Susan," smirked Ron. "And she's been all broody and remote recently. He gives her more attention in defence practice than anyone but she's playing hard to get."

Harry giggled boyishly. "No, he needs a girl to lead him on, so it's more likely... Lavender!"

His voice must have been a little higher than intended because the girl in question said, "What about me?"

Hermione cut in quickly, "The boys were just admiring your long dark hair, Lavender. The blue highlights really set it off nicely."

Even Neville turned his head to look, but Hermione could not see that his eyes were only partly focused on Lavender. Inwardly, his thoughts were far away up in the Turret of Terror. Not that he thought of the tower that way anymore – for him, the upper chamber was one of tranquillity.

Lavender smiled. "Oh, thanks! I might keep it this way. It's so much easier to brush now it's so silky smooth." With her hand, she smoothed a long tress forward over her shoulder. "You will teach me those spells, won't you, Hermione? You promised."

"Of course. Dark reddish-brown sets off your complexion nicely, fair and curly brings out your best features, but black is for... mystery and allure."

Parvati squealed and Lavender giggled. Fay said, "Will you do me as well, Hermione? I wanted to try dark, glistening ringlets."

Hermione nodded her head cheerfully in agreement but at that moment everyone was diverted by the arrival of the morning's owls. There was a thud as one bird dropped a package in front of Hermione then jostled with the Daily Prophet owl for the girl's attention. She gave them both crispy bacon rind and began removing the string from the packet. Inside was a very rough-looking book with a badly worn cover. There was no note so she opened it at the first page. The handwriting she recognised as belonging to Pandora Lovegood:

 _Dear Hermione, I finally got a practical Potions Tutomee working – well sort of – and this is the first version for you to test and we'll polish and improve it later. Sorry there's only one so far and it's a bit tatty as it was my working copy. As well as the usual instruction, theory and so on, I succeeded in bewitching the illustrations to observe and guide the student's ingredient and potion preparation – first-year anyway. With reasonable care, any student should be able to produce very good results. Do let me know how you get on with it. – Love, Pandora._

 _P.S. Luna told me she's often in touch with you and your friends so I suppose you know she's doing REALLY well over at Beauxbatons! I'm so proud of her, though I miss having her about the house dreadfully. She asked me to ask you if it would be alright if she lent me the mirror you gave her? She says she can share Ginny's because they're mostly together anyway. Then I can see and chat with her everyday!_

"Ron! Your dream has come true at last!" Hermione pushed the Tutomee over to him. "Read that – but keep quiet about it." She glanced at Harry's bag which was open on the floor. "Have you got your diary with you, Harry?"

"Ron had it last."

"Whoa! This is so seriously brilliant!" said Ron, who'd just read Pandora's message. "And the picture's will hide from Snape? Like Binns's ones?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Ron, have you got Harry's diary?"

"This is so cool... Diary? Yeah..." He fumbled it out of his bag and handed it over, but his attention was on the Potions Tutomee. "I just can't wait to try this out on homework!"

Harry and Hermione exchanged astonished looks. She turned back to Ron. "Who are you and what have you done with the real Ronald Weasley?"

"Bloody brilliant!" said Ron, dreamily, caressing the threadbare cloth binding with a sausage-greasy hand. "I'm looking forward to seeing Snape's face after I start using this."

Hermione scribbled a supportive message to Luna then pushed the diary into Harry's bag.

.

Mums Only Cry

That evening, Ron went over his Potions homework one more time using the Tutomee, gleeful that he could 'cheat' and improve on what he'd written. "This is even better than getting the answers off you, Hermione! It's the ultimate crib sheet and it doesn't care how many times it has to tell me the answers! All I have to do is copy it."

 _Soak it up, Ron,_ smiled Hermione, _it's called learning._

They'd bagged the best sofa in front of the common room fireplace but Harry was chatting away in a corner of the common room into his own two-way mirror. He seemed more upbeat than he had been in a while, Hermione thought. As he finished, Hermione went over.

"How are they? Your mum and dad? I can see by your smile that you've not told them much about... _her_." She half-gestured towards Daggard who was in the usual spot, puffing away on her pipe.

The mirror was pushed most carefully deep into the bag he always kept with him before Harry answered. "No, it's not their fault, is it? They've been worrying about me but they're a bit more relaxed about everything now."

"Because you've not told them what's going on."

"What's the point? Mums only cry if they know you're unhappy. Anyway, I'll see them at Christmas. They said they've got a big surprise to tell me, but they want me to be there."

Hermione's ears pricked up. "Oh, yes...? Did... Was it Sirius who... Harry, did your dad ask you not to say anything that might upset your mum?"

Harry opened his mouth in surprise. "Yes, he did. Why?"

"Nothing. So, any hint what the surprise is?"

"You know something don't you! You spent a lot of time with Mum before we came to Hogwarts. Tell me!"

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "That's for her to say, not me."

"Tell me or I'll..." He raised a mock fist. "I'll duel you till you beg on your knees."

Hermione giggled.

"What did you do, Hermione? Have you done something? It's magic isn't it? Got us all bigger mirrors?"

Hermione laughed.

The portrait hole opened and Neville came in humming to himself. He veered in Harry and Hermione's direction as soon as he heard them laughing. "Everyone looks happy today." As he passed Ron, his eyes fell on the Tutomee which was coaching Ron to do a deviously-clever rewrite. "Ah, I see," said Neville to Hermione as he reached the corner and dropped onto a seat beside the other two. "Will I be able to get one like Ron's as well?"

"It's up to Pandora. She'll probably wait for us to tell her how well this one is doing. Don't worry, it shouldn't be too long and you can share with Ron for now."

Neville gave a contented smile as he delved into his own bag of homework. "Life is good."

Hermione shook her head in puzzlement. For the first time she could ever remember, Ron was happy doing homework, Neville seemed more relaxed than she'd seen him before, yet the usually fun-loving Harry was now so often moody, and that made her depressed too. Something had to be done.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Questions: Abdullahsaurus asked if the princess will have a significance in the future, and the answer is yes, sort of to do with Neville's character growth._

 _CCBottle asked if there would be more 'relationship' between Harry/Hermione in this or another one of my stories. If you mean romantic relationship then expect more in this story because whereas there was romance between them in Merlin's Blessing, the story ended shortly after, whereas this story is long, very long, and I expect they'll be drawn more closely together when they're 13 or 14 so if the fic succeeds in reaching the end of the 7th year at Hogwarts then yes, there'll be more intimacy. But remember, this fic is intended to remain a T rating so similar in type to my other stories. Subtle steam I call it. Graphic plumbing is boring to me; there has to be story interest entwined with the erm... entwining._ :D

 _ArtimuosJackson pointed out that likely there were other ways for young Tom Riddle to gain immortality, or Dumbledore would have quickly guessed Horcrux earlier. Well, Dumbledore did guess, but he didn't gain confirmation until 1992 when the diary turned up and only then did he suspect there might be more. The only other known way was the Philosopher's (Sorcerer's) Stone but Dumbledore explained that Voldemort would not wish to be reliant on regular drinks of the elixir it produces. No, if there are other means of becoming immortal, Riddle never found them – at least, it seems reasonable to suppose so for the sake of this fic?_

 _Isa Lumitus is not comfortable with the narrative portraying as right and proper the imprisonment of villains then taking away their magic just because they believe Muggles are inferior, then Obliviating them before release without support so they'll likely become useless bums. My response is I agree it's a weakness of the narrative if it seems to portray the solution as morally good (though far better than Azkaban imo.) It's not good at all. It's a dreadful, terrible, last-resort solution by a flawed, savagely-traumatised character to save the world from the horror of seven-billion-plus deaths. Loosely speaking, I see Hermione's view as that punishment might change a person and the ensuing moral change will survive Obliviation (just as other character traits do.) But there is no guarantee of an improvement. So, since dark wizards use magic as a weapon for evil, Hermione believes they should be disarmed. Nor does Hermione have the time or skills to try to rehabilitate anyone other than the books she's provided so why risk more innocent victims? And Hermione doesn't imprison anyone solely for believing Muggles etc are inferior, but for the deaths or misery they cause. That's roughly it. Suggestions for a better, more humane way, given her nature and knowledge, and that infallible security requires that nobody but she can physically access the prisoners, would be welcome._

 _A related question by Isa Lumitus is about Rita and the 'untruthful' book being unnecessarily cruel. The answer is that Hermione hopes (and indeed tells Rita) that by being deprived of reliable facts she might come to value truth for its own sake. She regards that as moral improvement and therefore rehabilitating. Nor will Rita lose her writing skills. Amnesia victims normally remember how to read and write or play the piano whatever even though they can't recall how they learnt, and skilled Obliviation is much more clinically precise than a shock, stroke, or a blow on the head. She'll probably wake up in Singapore one day in an apartment with a year's rent paid up full and a clerical job lined up ready._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	38. 1:A Trying Time

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now starting at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the most trusted members of the old D.A. Meanwhile, a ruthless half-hag has been assigned to bodyguard Harry in his first year, and Neville has finally made best friends – with a girl in a painting. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 38**

 **A Trying Time**

* * *

.

A Sneaky Plan

Crest meetings were now occurring about once a week, and after any announcements and organised discussions were over with, the rest of the hour or so was more informal. Students exchanged simple spells they'd learned and helped each other with problems they'd struggled with in class. The atmosphere was more of an inter-house, first-years' friendship society and not so much like the old Dumbledore's Army that Hermione remembered.

Only two proper defence training sessions in the Room of Requirement had been organised so far, with Hermione, Ron, and Neville guiding the others on the basics and essential magic such as shield and disarming charms, but Harry was already frustrated at not being able to attend because of keeping the secret from Steff Daggard.

"It's like I'm in prison," he groaned at breakfast on the morning of the next meeting.

"Can't you sneak out this once?" said Ron. With a spoon, he scooped out a trench through his thick porridge and watched as it slowly filled in again.

"She's got my cloak, Ron!" hissed Harry,

"What!" Ron looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione for confirmation. They'd all paused in their eating now except for Neville who was only half-listening as he enjoyed taking the hat off a softly-boiled egg.

Hermione nodded. "Daggard stole it from his trunk. I can get it back but then she'll only think Harry took it and she'll be suspicious of how he could."

Neville dipped a bread soldier into his egg and gave it a stir before lifting out the yellow goo. "Not if you put it back after." He stuffed the end of the stick of bread into his mouth and looked innocently over it at the others' responses.

Abruptly his eyes widened and the rest of his bread soldier drooped and dripped as he stared over their shoulders. Just as suddenly, disappointment clouded his expression. "Who's that talking to Parvati?"

Hermione glanced round and laughed. "She's normally mousy-brown curls...? Oh, come on Neville...?"

"Oh, right – Fay's friend. I didn't recognise her without her glasses and her hair changed. She looks like Goldilocks. Sally something?"

"Sally-Anne. She only wears glasses for reading and writing. Bit shy really."

"Is that why she doesn't talk much?"

Hermione nodded guiltily. _I really must make the effort to get to know her this time round._

Harry was shaking his head mournfully but Ron whispered, "Where's Daggard put your cloak anyway? Where's her room?" He tried hard not to glance back over his shoulder at the wall where he knew the half-hag was stood watching for sudden, possibly hostile movements.

"She's not got her own room. She just stuffs things down her front on her..." began Harry.

"Cleavage?" said Hermione.

"Eww..." Ron wrinkled up his nose and stared morosely at his thickening, lumpy oats. "I thought that was just the other side of her hump."

"And I don't think she sleeps," whispered Harry, aware of Daggard's continuing scrutiny of them at that very moment. Could she hear what they were saying?

"Ever?" said Neville, reaching eagerly for another soldier.

"Hags don't," said Hermione. "I'm not sure about half-hags, but normal hags often have familiars who catnap for them."

"She doesn't even wash or change her clothes," said Harry. "Just uses a cleaning spell about once in a blue moon. I think that's why she smokes a pipe – to cover up the pong."

Ron pushed his dish away.

"There might be a way..." mused Hermione. "Today's the last Thursday of October."

"So?" said Ron.

"There's usually a staff meeting in the Headmaster's office on the last Thursday of each month. Suppose Harry got a fake message calling him to McGonagall's office? Daggard would have to wait outside for as long as we like. From there, I could get Harry to the meeting and back unseen. While Daggard believes she's protecting Harry she's fulfilling her obligation. It's a case of what she doesn't know can't hurt her."

Harry squirmed a little and gnawed the back of a knuckle, but Ron said, "That's not a bad idea, actually. Come on, Harry, it's only this once and we need you. Crest needs you."

"What if Daggard finds out?"

"She can't find out, can she?" said Hermione. "Even _she_ daren't burst into McGonagall's private office to see what's taking all that while – well, so long as she didn't hear screams or anything; she'd come in all guns blazing then sure enough."

"What's up, Harry?" said Ron. "It's not like you to be scared of a little risk. Don't you want to come to the meeting?"

"Of course I do!" snapped Harry. "And I'm not scared!"

"Well then?"

Harry seemed to be struggling with himself for a while. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other and frowned.

"Just for a short meeting then," said Harry at last. "And ask Aculus to watch her. Watch Daggard."

.

The Helpful Prefect

There was no dreamy smile on Neville's face as he entered the common room after dinner that evening. He called out quite loudly, "Ron, seen Harry anywhere?"

"Over there in the corner, moping as usual."

Neville swerved to the new direction. Harry, head down, seemed to be toying with his homework. Daggard was watching him but the hag straightened up and one squinty eye had swerved in Neville's direction the moment he'd called out and turned their way.

"McGonagall wants you, Harry!" called Neville as he approached.

"Me? What for?"

"Dunno. Think some of the teachers have complained you're not paying enough attention in class. Your marks are slipping. What's up with you, Harry? What's wrong?"

"Nothing! I'm fine!" Harry grumpily stuffed his homework back in his bag and stood up.

Neville said, "She looked a bit severe. You'd better prepare yourself for a stiff talking-to. Maybe detention."

"Who cares!" Harry trudged off towards the portrait hole with Daggard following.

As soon as the portrait closed behind them, Neville grinned at Ron. "How'd I do?"

"Good one, Nev," said Ron. "You should be an actor on the stage. Come on, let's get to the meeting. Did I tell you about the time me and Harry sneaked away from the hag one night?"

"Only about a million times..."

Harry maintained his slouch all the way to the Deputy Headmistress's office where he knocked sullenly on the door. It opened and a faint " _Enter"_ came from within. The moment he stepped inside, the door closed, shutting Daggard out. She growled to herself then leaned against the doorframe, preparing herself for a long wait.

Harry gazed around inside McGonagall's office. "Hermione?" he whispered to the empty space before him.

"Over here." She quickly became visible over near a filing cabinet. "I didn't want to risk Daggard glimpsing me through the door. Hermione gave Harry a swift once-over to judge his expression. "Ready?"

He nodded. "And Aculus is outside? I didn't see him."

"And neither will Daggard." She gripped Harry's arm securely then they floated away up through the ceiling.

Classroom 4J was completely empty but Hermione looked around carefully to make sure before rendering them visible again. She checked the door too: locked and charm protected. Satisfied, she led Harry over to the alcove where she walked back and forth three times while Harry watched. A rather dull, uninteresting door appeared; it could have been taken as nothing more than a cupboard.

"The other entrance works on the seventh floor works as well," she said. "Come on..."

As they entered the Room of Requirement there was a stir of interest from the core Crest members within. Ron and Neville clapped and a few others joined in. "You made it then?" said Ron. "How's it feel to be free for a while?"

Harry smiled wryly. "Good. It feels good." He looked around at the vast chamber; there were targets and training dummies and other equipment, as well as huge cushions to fall onto.

"We were just practising the shield charm, Harry," said Neville. "Unless you've prepared something else?"

"No, that's fine. Are you in groups?"

"Yeah, Malcolm's the best at it but Susan lacks focus and Padma, Terry, and Dean need more help so..."

"Right then."

Harry soon got into the swing of things and began to relax into routines he'd practised for years. Time passed swiftly. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he felt physically and emotionally uplifted.

"Not bad, Terry, but face more to the front. ... Padma, remember to turn the wand like so! ... Dean, you're getting it now."

Susan, however, was not yet able to grasp what was needed. Close to, Harry thought she looked rather under the weather with dark shadows under her eyes. "You've just been overdoing things, Susan," he said kindly. "You're magic is exhausting itself. You'll get there in the end, don't worry."

She nodded, but seemed lost in her own disappointment. He remembered Ron's theory that she'd got a moody crush on Neville and turned to look for him. "Padma! That's perfect now!" Harry cried jubilantly. "Stick with that feel you've got for it and you won't go wrong."

Looking on was Hermione, glad to see Harry enjoying himself for once. There'd be more good times ahead, she told herself. No way was Harry going to endure the misery he'd suffered in their previous life. But as the hour of curfew approached and the group returned to Room 4J, a faint voice whispered in Hermione's ear.

"I tried, Mistress, I really tried, but I couldn't get into your secret room to warn you!"

"What is it, Aculus? What's happened?"

"A prefect saw the hag-witch waiting outside the Deputy Headmistress's office – The big Weasley."

"Percy?"

"He told her to come back later because Professor McGonagall was at a meeting in the Headmaster's office."

"Oh, no! How long ago?" Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him back into the alcove out of the line of sight of the departing Crestors.

"Ten minutes ago," said Aculus. "She cursed the Weasley and he became confused. She's been trying in vain to break down McGonagall's door. I think she's on her way up here now!"

Aculus had not finished speaking when Daggard's voice could be heard outside through the throng of chattering children.

"Outa my feggin' way yer slow-witted whelps! Where's Black?"

"If you mean Harry then he couldn't come. He had to see McGonagall." Ron's voice.

But Hermione and Harry were gone before Daggard pushed inside, squealing with pain and rage and with large puffs of smoke clouding around her, partly obscuring the blood that was seeping from her eyes and nose; the half-hag was dying from the pressure of her oath and desperately needed to find her ward before she collapsed.

.

McGonagall's Stand

"What can we do, Hermione?" cried Harry, the moment they were back in McGonagall's office.

"I've always got potions in my bag, Harry. Look for a hairbrush in the bathroom or bedroom would you?" Hermione began scrutinising the leather armchair behind the desk.

"What! I can't go in McGonagall's private–!"

"HARRY! Seconds count!"

Harry leapt for the door which he hoped led to the bedroom – it was. Frantically he searched the pillow on the bed, on the dressing table, and even scrabbled around on the bedside rug. "She's spick-and-span, Hermione! Not one hair!"

Hermione was too busy checking amongst the paperwork and pigeonholes for addressed envelopes that McGonagall might have licked to seal – even a tiny bit of spit would let her transform into the deputy headmistress for a few minutes. Daggard would be back here any moment she knew and there'd barely be time for the Polyjuice to take effect. Harry dashed across her eyeline, startling her as he found the door to the bathroom. "Quick, Harry!"

Several things happened at once. Harry cried, "YES!" and brandished a small silver comb he'd found just as Hermione had caught sight of a folder tucked away beside McGonagall's office chair. It was marked: _MOST URGENT_ and had the name _Steffilde Lusk Daggard_ along the back edge. Hermione snatched at it. As she did so, there was a rush of noise and the office door burst open – but it was not Daggard who was framed there.

"Potter? What in Merlin's name were you doing in my bathroom?"

"Tol' yer din' I!" gasped Daggard who was right behind McGonagall, squinting over her shoulder, and looking mottled and bruised about the face.

"Professor I..." For one fleeting moment Harry glimpsed Hermione's wild-eyed fear where she was crouched behind the desk – then she vanished.

"Uuh... P-Professor, I'm s-sorry but..."

"Well, Potter?" demanded McGonagall. "Explain yourself!"

"Erm... sorry, Professor, when you told me I'd have to wait... well, I just had to... you know... go... Please?" He stared unflinchingly at McGonagall, praying she might read his thoughts. "Please?"

Seconds passed.

"I see..." said McGonagall, though her puzzled expression made it obvious she didn't see at all.

But if _she_ didn't, Daggard certainly did. The hag, choking and stumbling, pushed past McGonagall and drew out her pipe menacingly. "D'yer fink I'm dumb do yer? Yer tryin' ter kill ME, eh, Black? Well I'll teach yer a lesson yer won't fergit in a hurry! I warned yer, din' I! I told yer what'd happen'! Come wiv me right now!" She seized Harry by the arm.

"No, noooo... not that! Please – I won't do it again!" wailed Harry.

Confused or not, McGonagall was not one to stand by and watch an attack on one of her students. "MISS DAGGARD! Don't you dare threaten this boy!"

"Shut yer yap, yer foozlin' ol' tart!" snarled Daggard. "I'll deal with this skelp good n' proper!"

"You will do no such thing!" Her wand was instantly raised. "Unhand that boy at once."

"Oh, yeah? And what's an ol' fustylugs like yersel' gonna do about it then? Gonna murder me are yer? 'Cos tha's warra'll 'appen wunnit?"

McGonagall drew herself upright, and the tip of her wand was close to Daggard's throat. She was a formidable witch when roused and right now she was furious. " _Miss_ Daggard, DO NOT TRY ME! While our Headmaster may be reluctant to take a life, when it comes to protecting one of my own, I am not at all concerned about risking yours – just as I am not concerned for my own. Now either you leave my office this instant or I shall unleash such a curse upon you that you're unlikely to recover for a week – and you know what that will mean."

Daggard sneered at McGonagall for a few moments, assessing the risk of a counterstrike, then, deciding she herself would be half a second too late with her own curse, she flounced out through the open doorway. "We ain' finished yet, Black! You an' me!"

McGonagall closed the door on the hag. "Potter, take a seat." She gestured at the chair in front of her desk, but Harry did not move. He was gawping at the Head of Gryffindor House with a new appreciation, and much admiration.

"Potter?"

Perhaps the chair was overlarge because he sank down onto it feeling rather small and still staring at the teacher. McGonagall herself went round the other side and pulled out her own chair. "Now, what is this all ab–?" She stared down at the empty space behind her desk.

"It's all my fault, Professor. I pretended I had an appointment with you so I could... go to our students meeting..." He hesitated. "You know about our...?"

"Mmm...? Yes, yes, Miss Granger mentioned it. Potter have you...? Did you remove anything from my office?"

Sheepishly, Harry held up the comb. "I only borrowed it to look at because it's so... uuh, nice. It's real uumm... silver, isn't it?"

McGonagall dismissed it with an absent-minded wave of her hand. "So you didn't touch a folder? Anything like that?"

Harry shook his head.

"Accio _Daggard_ file," said McGonagall.

She looked around and Harry did likewise, trying to remember what that spell might cause to happen. Hadn't Hermione used that same incantation to make things come to her?

McGonagall shook her head worriedly. "You're certain, Mr Potter? It's most important."

"Yes, I didn't touch anything else."

"So... you used my office to..." She shifted uncomfortably in her chair then looked down as something brushed against her ankle. "Ah! It's here all along. I could have sworn it wasn't there a moment ago. It must have fallen down." She picked up the folder and placed it on the desk in front of her.

"Mr Potter, I want you to understand that we are aware of your predicament and are working hard to... that is, we are doing all that we can to resolve the issue, however..." She smoothed her hand over the file. "It might not be possible to help you much in the short term. I just wanted you to know that you're not forgotten. My advice to you is not to antagonise Miss Daggard for in my opinion she is quite, quite... _unstable._ "

As Harry went out, he couldn't help feeling that Professor McGonagall had chosen her words very cautiously.

He did not have much time to dwell on the matter however because the moment he turned the first corner of the passageway he was seized by the ear. "Warned yer, din' I?" A silencing spell hit Harry and he was dragged around several twists and turns until arriving in a short passageway so dark that Harry could hardly see at all.

Here he was thrust against a wall, pressed there by Daggard's heavier mass. Her smell, body heat, and the gloom were oppressive and distracting, but for a moment, Harry imagined someone else was there in the corridor with them. He squirmed sideways and received a knee in the groin for his trouble. As he doubled up in pain, he saw a bundle on the ground next to them: a small, curled-up figure, probably bound, thick dark hair upon school robes. _Hermione? HERMIONE!_ But though his lips moved, no sound came out.

The ugly hag crouched down, pushing her leering face so close to his that he coughed from the smoke fumes. "Now yer can watch an' listen, an' nuffin' yer can do while I finish 'er off fer good..."

She took out the short blade she used for tamping her pipe and brought it down hard as Harry silently screamed, _No, not her! Please not–!_ There was an excruciating screech of metal scraping metal accompanied by a long, girlish squeal of suffering, then Harry almost passed out. The walls seemed to tilt away and, in a daze, he felt the cold stone floor pressing against his face...

.

Distancing

Less than a minute could have passed, for though Daggard's uncomfortable stench was gone, a strong whiff of pipe smoke remained. Someone was standing over him, calling his name.

"Harry! Are you hurt?"

A few seconds were all that was needed for him to remember events: the knife, the body on the floor, and the end of... "NOOOOOO!"

He struggled to his feet, one hand against the wall of the passage, staring at the dark figure outlined against the faint light from the next hallway. It was Hermione.

"Keep away from now on!" he shouted. "This was all your fault! You said she couldn't find out! Just keep away from me! I have to stay with HER now! Go away! Tell EVERYONE to stay away!"

He rushed past her and she watched him go, too astonished to follow. She lit her wand and cast about. Traces of dark magic hung in the air and there were cords fading away on the ground – clear remnants of the binding curse, but otherwise nothing to indicate what had occurred. It wasn't difficult though to put two and two together. Harry must have been bound, threatened, and made badly scared – but not for himself. She recalled the hag's words on the Hogwarts Express: _Your weakness is yer friends and family, and don'choo forgit it!_

Nothing much had changed except Harry was clearly more distressed. Hermione would have to give him some space until she could remove the hag once and for all.

She made one last sweep with her light, and glimpsed a flicker of glistening movement along the stone slabs at her feet: fragments of glass or metal she could not tell. Had Daggard smashed Harry's two-way mirror?

"Sirius? Is that you?"

But if Sirius had just been trying to reach Harry, he had given up, and there were no fragments large enough for even a powerful witch like Hermione to repair. Grimly, she turned away, more determined than ever to put paid to the half-hag, and she had no intentions of doing it nicely.

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The Leak

Yet still there was no immediate way for Hermione to remove Daggard without murdering her. She had some hold over Harry but there was no direct threat to his safety – those around him were the ones at risk. Reluctantly, Hermione had to concede that perhaps it was just as well if Harry wished to avoid his friends for the time being.

"It was horrible," said Ron, as he and Neville rejoined Hermione in the Gryffindor reading room. "You didn't see Daggard after you left 4J but she was swelling up like she was going to burst apart when she couldn't get into the Room of Requirement. It's like the oath is tied to her _trying_ to protect Harry. I mean, so long as she keeps trying then she doesn't drop dead but if she thought it was hopeless she'd–"

"What did you say?" cried Hermione

"She'd explode I reckon."

"No, about the Room of Requirement? How could she try to get in? How could she even know about it?"

Ron hesitated. "Well... she was stomping back and forth in front of the door..."

Hermione groaned. "Then either she's been watching from under Harry's cloak or we've a spy in Crest. She can't actually get in because I told the Room I required a place where only Crest members could enter."

"She wouldn't leave Harry," said Neville. "And it seems unlikely he'd be there with her under the cloak – unless he was Stupefied or something."

Hermione winced. "I wouldn't put it past that hag-bitch. I told you how she bound Harry and threatened him. I hope she didn't... if I thought she tortured him I'd..."

"Hermione, you don't think... don't take this the wrong way, but..." Ron clearly hated saying something. "You reckon Harry could have told her? Or she, you know, got it from him somehow?"

"I don't know, Ron, I just don't know. All we do know is... one of us is a traitor."

.

Hermione's Appello

"Good afternoon, Lady Isabelle!"

"Good afternoon, Neville. Looking forward to the weekend?"

"Yes, thanks. Just double Potions to do then we're free!"

Ron and Neville had reached the top of the Great Staircase and paused for Hermione to catch them up. Ron said, "' _Just_ double Potions', Nev? Do you have to make lighthearted chat with every bloomin' portrait we pass?" He looked back along the corridor. "Come on, Hermione. Don't want to be late for _just_ double Snape."

He knew why she was dragging her feet of course: Harry and Daggard were ahead of them down the stairs and she wanted to give her best friend a cooling-off period before finding a way to speak to him without Daggard noticing. Ron sighed and trotted downstairs to Neville who was now midway, chatting with a Victorian gentleman in one of the pictures.

Hermione watched them go, pacing herself with a slow walk, but as she glanced down to check her watch, someone crashed against her as he ran past and down the stairs. She stumbled and several books fell from her open bag.

"Just watch your back, Granger!"

It was Blaise Zabini, and there'd been an odd menacing note in his voice. Had that been a threat? A warning?

"Oy!" cried Ron as Zabini sprinted by him. Ron walked back up a couple of steps. "You alright, Hermione?"

"Yes. No problem. He's just a..." She tailed off. What exactly was Zabini? In her former life, he'd distanced himself. She knew he regarded Muggles and Muggle-borns as vastly inferior to Pure-bloods but she'd never known him to show violence against them and he'd never been a Death Eater. He'd never sought to be abusive and confrontational like Malfoy had, but he'd not held back hateful insults when the situation arose. Perhaps the collision had just been an accident after all, bringing out the bigot's natural spite.

When she caught up with Ron and Neville they were joining the queue outside the Potions classroom. Harry was a couple of places ahead and Zabini must have pushed in near the start of the lineup because he was talking to Tracey Davis within the main knot of Slytherins. Daggard, of course, was lounging against the opposite wall lighting a fresh pipe and eyeing them all carefully for signs of trouble.

Snape opened the classroom door and watched sullenly as the students filed in. One of the Potions workbenches was cracked on one side so usually everyone avoided using it. Harry made straight for it and took the good side – the only one with a chair. The message was clear; he wanted to be left alone, so Hermione sat close to Fay and Sally-Anne at the bench behind Ron and Neville where she could also keep an eye on Harry off at the side of them.

"Those of you who were less than happy trying your pathetic attempts at the nerve tonic you produced recently will be pleased to hear that you can choose either one of two potions to brew today. The Draught of Dizziness and its panacea: the Balm of Balminess," began Snape. "The two are closely related but have opposite effects so you will take great care with your preparations. And when I say 'will' I mean WILL, because anything else is unacceptable. Is that clear?"

He let the mumbled, grumbled replies die away, then continued, "Now pay attention! You MUST take care when removing the tongue of your adder's head because the fangs are still quite poisonous. A fine silver scalpel should be used to slice the tongue _almost_ into two separate strands lengthwise – beginning at the fork – remember I said, _almost_ because the tissue must remain connected. The other ingredients listed on the blackboard are standard preparations so no excuse for failure will be tolerated. It is the addition and stir times that are particularly difficult so first adjust your hourglasses to the most delicate level – no more than one grain of sand per second."

As Snape continued to lecture, Hermione felt a pair of eyes upon her. Her quill slowed to a halt and she slightly turned her head to focus on the Slytherins. It was Zabini again. He matched her stare for several seconds then looked away. Had he been trying to tell her something or just trying to look threatening? He resumed taking notes – as all the other students were doing – except Zabini was using the curious notebook she'd thought was a mobile phone on the day they first arrived at Hogwarts. He had no quill and only occasionally tapped the little book with a finger. He was certainly efficient. It was either a magical note-taker or–

"Granger! Why aren't you writing this down! Do you expect to memorise all of my words?" fumed Snape.

" _Thsorry, Professthor._ "

"One point from Gryffindor for... _every_ one of the items you've missed so far – which must be at least two while you've been admiring your betters. Show me."

" _Thsir?"_

"Your notes, Granger. Bring them to me."

"But–"

"Now!"

Fay gave her a sympathetic shrug as Hermione scrabbled up her parchment and walked forward to Snape's desk where she handed it over.

He frowned. then appeared to read the list again to make sure. "Miss Granger, can you explain how it is that you not only have the information about every relevant item so far, but also the next one about the cooling stage which I have not yet even uttered?"

"Oh, have I? Uumm... I _resthearched_ it in the library yesterday, _thsir._ My mind _musth_ have gotten ahead of _itsthelf, Professthor._ "

"I see. But why do I not believe you?"

"I don't know _thsir._ "

"Back to your seat, Granger. In future you will note down exactly what I say, not what you expect me to say."

" _Yesth, thsir._ Thank you, _thsir._ "

"What are you sniggering at, Weasley!"

Ron was smothering a grin. "Nothing sir, only..."

"Spit it out!"

"Well, I thought that since you were deducting points for missing items then Gryffindor ought to get an extra point added for the–"

"Silence! FIVE points from Gryffindor for your impertinence."

Snape gathered himself together and resumed – looking rather pointedly at Hermione, "Cooling of the potion must be carried out in stages..."

Ron grinned at Neville and continued pretending to write in his Tutomee. There was no need, for the book was writing the notes itself.

Finally, they were all ready to begin. "Very well, decide quickly which of the two potions you wish to prepare then collect your ingredients from the shelves. Adders can be decapitated and separated on the left but tip the guts into the common bowl on the right ready for storage. No, Miss Patil, the snakes are _not_ still alive, that squirming is magically induced to keep them fresh." Snape groaned inwardly and left them to it while he sat down to check through yesterday's sixth-year homework.

"Which you going to make, Dean?" said Ron, as students jostled for position among the racks.

"The Balm of course. Everybody is. You'd have to be a nutter to make the giddy wotsitsname."

"Draught of Dizziness."

"Yeah, that."

And so the students began work on the potion itself. Ron checked his Tutomee at every point while he and Neville measured out and mixed according to the recipe.

"Plus ten percent," cautioned Ron, one finger on the last line in his book.

Neville nodded and sprinkled another quarter teaspoon of ground bat bristles into the cauldron. "And what colour should it be?"

"Uumm..." They watched the words write themselves in the book: _Rich peach with white flecks._

"Flecks? Is that the same as orange with specks of froth?"

 _No,_ the book wrote quickly. _You need a pinch more grated rat sphincter._

Ron grinned, and almost giggled to himself as he looked up at the blackboard to check. _Of course we need a bit more rat sphincter! And Snape will never know we got it wrong first off! And if he asks us? Well, now we know our sphincters to the nearest pinch! Cheating is so easy it's–!_ The book suddenly scribbled a big warning in red ink: _Snape coming!_ then rewrote itself as notes in Ron's handwriting, though perhaps more legibly.

Snape smirked at the simmering mix but went on his way without comment.

"Nasty git must have known what was wrong with it but kept his mouth shut," grouched Ron. "Right, we'll show _him_. Add the ground sphincters, Nev."

 _Grated, not ground,_ whispered an illustration of an old wizard that was redrawing itself.

"Right, make that grated sphincters, Nev. Use the little grater."

"Got it."

Snape called out "Class, you have ten minutes to finish the brewing then the mix must stand for five more before we test your concoctions."

"Test?" whispered Fay to Hermione. "How can we test the cure unless someone is giddy first?"

Hermione shook her head. "I dread to think." The lesson had proceeded differently from how she remembered in her previous life where only a colour and viscosity check had been made. Had her different behaviour triggered the change? Or Harry's?

Once the potions had finished settling, Snape said, "Very well, volunteers will receive a bonus of ten house points if their brew earns an Exceeds Expectations." He paused for only the briefest of moments. "Let's see now, Goyle and... Potter, bring your vials to the front of the class."

"But..." began Harry, as he watched Goyle stumble to his feet looking as bewildered as he felt.

"What is it, Potter?"

Goyle hesitated.

Harry said, "Erm... I didn't raise my hand, sir."

"So? You didn't volunteer and you won't receive any bonus points will you? You had your chance, now get up here."

Harry resisted his natural impulse to look to Hermione for guidance. He picked up his potion vial and trudged forward with it.

Daggard straightened herself up against the wall, frowning. When she spoke, her voice was cold. "If 'e comes to any 'arm, Snape, yer'll answer ter me."

It was if a static charge had crackled through all the students. There was a collective, synchronised intake of breath and they became motionless, watching what Snape would do. Nobody challenged Snape on his home turf.

The Potion Master's answer was even more icy than the hag's. "Do not dare to interfere with my class, Daggard. This is none of your business."

"Tha's where yer wrong," glared Daggard, her squinty eye watering slightly in a haze of tobacco fumes. She tapped out her pipe against the wall behind her then stepped forward from the cloud of dying smoke, braced for action. "It's life an' death, is worrit is..."

"Let me do it, sir. I volunteer."

Everyone looked round. It was Draco Malfoy who had spoken.

"After all," the Slytherin continued, "We wouldn't want... an incident, would we, sir?" He stood up, his own vial in hand, and waited.

"Oh, very well," said Snape, gesturing him forward. "We mustn't upset the baby's nanny. Sit down, Goyle."

Malfoy strode purposefully forward. Hermione could see that the fluid in the small bottle he held was a pale, washed-out blue. She recognised it instantly.

"Wha's goin' on, Snape?" growled Daggard. She took several steps forward.

In an effort to defuse the situation, Hermione stood up and said, " _Exthcusthe_ me, _thsir_ , but aren't we to _testh_ our potionsth for colour?"

Snape did not take his eyes off Daggard for one single moment. "How would that prove anything, Granger? You can only truly test a cure on a sickness."

Dean gasped. "You mean some have made the Draught of Dizziness?"

Snape's smirk changed to a scowl when he saw Draco's potion close up. "Malfoy, have you...?"

"Sorry, sir. I think I must have added too much water." He held it out to Harry and gave a slight nod as he eyed him meaningfully.

Harry took the draught in his free hand, hesitated for only a moment, then drank it swiftly. He swayed against Snape's desk – Daggard strode to his side, her pipe raised, but Harry managed to quickly drink some of his own potion. He steadied himself. Daggard's shoulders relaxed. The drama was over.

Snape was livid. "Weasley! Get up here! Bulstrode – have you diluted your potion since I last saw it?"

"No, sir," Bulstrode grinned evilly. "In fact it's a bit thicker."

"Then bring it here. Let's see how potent the draught can be."

Daggard, after watching Harry walk normally back to his bench, had lost all further interest, and resumed her place at the wall where she relit her pipe.

Ron cupped his hand tightly around the potion that he and Neville had made, hiding its colour from Snape. He'd watched Harry and knew what to do.

But when he saw Bulstrode's blend he gulped anxiously; it was almost grey, and as he tried to drink it, the sensation was akin to sucking scummy sludge. Yet almost before he'd removed the vial from his lips, he knocked back his own balm. Even so, Ron staggered and collapsed onto his knees. The room appeared to be whirlpooling around him and he felt as if his stomach was trying to struggle up out of his mouth to get some fresh air. Only his own perfect potion saved him from regurgitating lunch. He winced. His eyes watered, then he rose to his feet completely refreshed.

Snape seized his vial and stared at the residue of balm still remaining; it was a rich peach colour with white flecks. "Whose potion is this, Weasley!" He stormed off towards Neville with Ron trotting anxiously after him. "Longbottom, explain yourself!"

"Sir?"

Snape's eyes swept over the equipment on the bench and saw the grater had been used. "Can't you read my instructions! Why have you not ground your sphincters!"

He continued to scan the bench then seized the Tutomee from Ron who had been trying to furtively nudge it behind the cauldron. "What is this?"

"Notebook, sir."

Snape angrily flipped pages. "Since when did you write in this neat fashion, Weasley? Have you–?" Suspicion showed on his face and he took out his wand. "Reveal your secret!" he said, touching the wand to the book. Nothing happened.

"Professor Severus Snape, master of this school, commands you to yield the information you conceal!" Snape said, hitting the open page of the Tutomee with his wand. Words began to form below Ron's notes:

 _Tidywrite! The only charm guaranteed to neaten even the worst of scrawls into legible writing. Available from all good magical stationery shops. Tidywrite!_

"A likely tale!" snarled Snape. "Clearly it's dark magic. I'm confiscating this and that will be twenty points from Gryffindor for cheating." He slammed shut the book and swept off with it towards the front of the class. Ron's face was scarlet with rage as he gasped breathlessly, "You can't... that's my..."

Unsure of himself, he turned to Hermione, mouthing, "Can he tell we were cheating?" but she appeared to be trying to control her own anger.

Finally, she stood up and, sounding as nervously as she could, squeaked, " _Pleasth, thsir_ – Appello."

Snape, who'd reached his own desk and had already stuffed the Tutomee into his bag, looked up. "What was that? Who said that?"

" _Pleasth, th-thsir_ – Appello," repeated Hermione.

"Sit down, you silly, silly girl," Snape said dismissively. He raised his voice to address the rest of the class. "Homework for this weekend will be thirty inches on closely related potions where–"

"Appello," Hermione said more firmly.

Snape glared at her. "Have you completely taken leave of your senses, Granger? Or have you absorbed some of the fumes from Bulstrode's giddy concoction? Either way, I am deducting ten points from Gryffindor."

"Appello."

Snape seemed to swell up as if for an eruption but then he managed to bring himself under control. "Detention, Granger. This weekend. And if you don't sit down and shut up this instant you'll be explaining yourself to the Headmaster."

"Appello. I'm appealing against your _confisthcation_ of private property under Article 40 of the Founders' Regulations which _sthtatesth_ that Hogwarts may only investigate _thsusthpect_ property and only impound that property on proof of wrongdoing."

"Granger, you are clearly way over your head. Do you suppose that browsing a leaflet makes you some kind of authority? Do you dare to teach me my job based on your childish notions?"

"I'll file the appeal with the Board of Governors."

"Who will promptly throw it back and demand your expulsion! Are you so determined to leave Hogwarts that–?"

"–The Board of Governors are bound by magical law and will have no option but to deal with a legitimate Appello."

Snape paused, frowning, but not for long. A sinister smile touched his lips. "Very well. Since you are so determined and we have wasted enough time already. I am not _confiscating_ Weasley's book; I am _investigating_ it."

"For how long, _thsir?_ "

"For as long as it takes," smirked Snape. He knew he'd won by the disappointed look on Hermione's face. As he packed his notes back into his bag, he dismissed his class with a parting, "Label your potions and leave them on my desk for evaluation. Homework is THIRTY inches remember. Nothing less. No excuses. And no... cheating." He glared a warning at Ron on his way out.

Hermione had sank back onto her seat, biting her lip and staring at the top of her bench.

Ron said, "What do we do? What can we do?"

She was only half-hearing what was being said around her. Someone murmured they'd always wondered how she ever got into Gryffindor, and another replied "Well, now you know."

"It was about time someone stood up to that pompous berk," said Dean, patting Hermione on the back on his way past her. There were murmurs of agreement from others. She looked up. Admiring though sympathetic faces were glancing her way as they filed off towards the door. Perhaps she _had_ won a small victory after all.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Q & A: Cheryl asked in her review of the last chapter if we'll get to see more of Ginny and Luna who are in France at Beauxbatons. Not for a while, but they are both very important to the story so eventually we will._

 _TheHonourableSkye11 pointed out that I had the day of the Potions test arriving twice in Chapter 36! Thanks for that, and now fixed._

 _oXCrystalAngelXo wondered if we might pair up Harry with another girl such as Hannah. Sorry, much as I love Hannah, this whole story pivots on Harry and Hermione's love for each other. Also, you might have noticed that because Justin and Hannah met on the train to the Longbottom Manor, they are seen more together in this lifetime. A growing friendship? Just something to think about._ ;)

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	39. 1:The Potions Lessons Crisis

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now starting at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the most trusted members of the old D.A. Meanwhile, a ruthless half-hag has been assigned to bodyguard Harry in his first year, and Neville has finally made best friends – with a girl in a painting. Snape has taken Ron's History Tutomee and Hermione knew she must deal with the nasty Potions teacher once and for all. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 39**

 **The Potions Lessons Crisis**

* * *

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A New Teacher

Halloween came and went without a troll in sight. Once lessons ended on the Monday after the festivities, Hermione sat on her bed steeling herself for the confrontation with Snape that lay ahead. It was risky. It attracted attention to herself when she preferred to hide behind her lisping, feeble Clark Kent persona. But she was determined that Snape would not spoil Harry and Ron's schooldays like he had before. She had a plan prepared. She'd always had the plan but vainly hoped Snape might be a better person in this lifetime. He wasn't – if anything, he was worse.

Taking one last browse of the Geminoed copy of McGonagall's _Daggard_ file before her, she vanished it. It wouldn't have lasted much longer – doubling and conjuring rarely did – and anyway, it only confirmed what she already knew: the Ministry had plenty of circumstantial evidence but no concrete proof against the half-hag – not while Veritaserum and Pensieve evidence was objected to by so many corrupt members of the Wizengamot.

Harry was still keeping his distance from her so she went in search of Ron and found him in the common room with Neville, trying to get a game of chess started.

"We need to talk," she said. "Maybe both of you, since you usually work together in Potions."

"Ah, it's about Snape is it?" said Ron. "Why bother? You know what, if you'd not given us those primers before Hogwarts, Snape would just be a waste of space. I might as well have stopped at home with the Tutomee."

"Exactly."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't mean actually go home but suppose I told you that you don't need to go to Snape's lessons, would you have the nerve to stand up to your mum if she sent you a howler – or worse, came here to give you a tongue-lashing?"

Ron's lips moved wordlessly in confusion and his fingers toyed idly with the chess pieces that were still in their box. "Seriously?"

"There's no choice," said Neville. "Potions is mandatory, you know that."

"Potions is, but Snape isn't."

"What? Another teacher you mean? Who?"

"Me."

Ron and Neville looked at one another. Ron spoke first. "It's Bulstrode's dizzy draught isn't it? You've gone mental. I could brew you some balm if you like and–"

"I know all this stuff right up to seventh year and beyond. I've already taught it at Hogwarts remember? I also know the Founders' rules and regulations backwards and forwards better than anyone here – probably including Dumbledore."

"Phew!" Ron blew his astonishment upwards as he leaned back in his armchair thinking. "Mum'd do her nut if... no wait, is Beauxbatons unplottable? She went over for Halloween and is staying there for a few more days. She still misses Ginny – though I think it's more that Ginny is out of the country that upsets her. I dunno... she'd find out from my end of year report results."

"You'd still be able to sit exams because they are managed by the Wizarding Examinations Authority – for which I also worked at one time. How about you, Neville? Ready to defend your right to a good education? Being a Gryffindor is not entirely about knights in shining armour saving maidens from deadly dragons."

"What? ... What did you say that for?"

"Just an expression. I mean, I know you've both got the courage – I know better than you do yourselves. The question is, are you ready to fight the good fight?"

In his head, Neville could hear a sweet voice singing:

 _Wilt my true love's heart lead hither?  
Or perish I with sigh and quiver?_

"Neville?"

 _I have heard of thy brave deeds, Sir Neville!_

He sighed.

"Give him a nudge, Ron, I think he's having one of his turns."

Neville jerked awake. "What? No! I mean, Yes! Yes, I'm ready to fight."

"Good man," said Ron. "If you will, then I will." He pushed away the unused chessboard with finality.

"We three then," said Hermione. "Let me do all the talking and follow my lead. We must stay strictly within Hogwarts rules else we're lost and I can't help you then. But if you stand by me then I'll make sure you face no penalties. We cannot ask permission first because we'll be refused. We have to go ahead and defend our position afterwards. So, when lunch is over tomorrow, keep your nerve, we go to Room 4J for Potions. And be on your best classroom behaviour even if there appears to be nobody else there but us. Give them nothing to attack and we'll be fine."

For the remaining half hour before dinner, she prepared them, rehearsing their responses for every eventually that might arise.

"What about Harry?" said Neville. "He hates us now, especially you, Hermione."

"No he doesn't. He's protecting us from that hag-witch the only way he knows how. She's a menace to everyone near him but not a serious threat to Harry himself. Not yet, anyway. But tell him what we're planning, Neville, or he'll worry when we don't turn up in Snape's lesson. And tell him it's okay to tell Snape we're in Room 4J if he asks – we're not doing anything wrong or secretive."

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Professor Granger's First Class

The gay nerve of planning ahead is one thing but actually carrying out a risky scheme requires a physical courage that neither boy felt they possessed as the time approached. Ron was a little shaky and white-faced. Neville was nauseous and unable to eat lunch. Hermione gave them both energy bars laced with various potions of her own making which had proven themselves before many a battle.

"You'll be fine once we get started," she said, tucking into her salmon salad with a degree of relish that was genuine; she was looking forward to the fray. Yes, anxiety touched the palms of her hands – that was normal – but her confidence came from having considered the plan quite thoroughly long before they even arrived at Hogwarts.

As they made their way upstairs to the fourth floor, she reminded the boys about classroom formalities. "When nothing happens you'll quickly relax, but after that you'll begin to relax _too_ much and forget what we're doing. I'll remind you sharply if I have to. This is to be a real class and I shall award and deduct house points if necessary."

Ron laughed. "Imagine if you could!" When Hermione didn't reply he turned to stare at her. "You're not serious?"

"Yes I _am_ serious. Magic is timeless. The castle still regards me as a teacher and house points are part of that magic. Detentions I shall have to refer to McGonagall to carry out if you do not comply. It's essential we stay within the regulations. This must be a genuine Hogwarts Potions class."

Once in Room 4J, Hermione wasted no time but summoned equipment from her beaded bag and cast a detailed recipe for a hiccupping solution upon the blackboard. "I'll take you through this quite slowly and discuss each stage as we do. I want you to each prepare and brew your own potion but work together, share, check and learn from each other along the way."

"But isn't that cheating?" frowned Ron.

"It's called cooperative learning. Teaching was never intended to be a punishing torment, but natural absorption by doing. So let us begin..."

Ron and Neville grinned at one another.

"What?" said Hermione.

"We could finally get to like you being bossy, Hermione," smiled Ron.

No time was wasted puzzling out what to do. Hermione demonstrated how to grind down flea tendons with a tiny mortar and pestle, watched them try, corrected them repeatedly until they perfected the finger twitch, then checked it after. In this way they progressed so rapidly that they finished fifteen minutes before the end of the lesson and began to syphon off a sample of each of their mixtures into vials for Hermione to examine.

As they were finishing, the door opened. "Miss Granger..." McGonagall stood on the threshold with a shocked expression matched only for depth by Snape's thunderous look over her shoulder. "What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?"

" _Potionsth lessthon_ , Professor," said Hermione, her hand as steady as a rock as she stoppered the vials. "They're fine," she said to the boys but they had shrunk down into their seats hoping nobody would notice them.

McGonagall's lips made a very thin line that could cut through glass. "Your Potions lesson is down in the dungeon as you very well know. This prank will earn each of you detention which–"

"–Appello," cut in Hermione. "I wish to appeal on the grounds that according to the Founders Rules and Regulations, a Hogwarts lesson is defined as any class given by a qualified teacher at Hogwarts."

"Precisely. And your qualified teacher is Professor Snape. You will immediately–"

"Appello. Mister Snape is not officially qualified so–"

"And you are, I suppose! ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE!" bellowed Snape, striding past McGonagall. "You will address me as 'Sir' or 'Professor' and–"

"–Appello. Yes, I _am_ qualified and have the certificate handed to me personally by Madame Marchbanks at the Ministry to prove it, whereas you, Mister Snape, are only a Potions Master with no teaching skills whatsoever. Technically you should address me as Professor Granger in front of the students but I'll waive that privilege."

"MISS GRANGER!" cried McGonagall. "I am ordering you to stop this fiasco and in future you will attend normal–"

"–Appello. Anyone who prevents a student from attending a legitimate lesson without good reason will attend a disciplinary hearing before the Hogwarts Board of Governors that–"

"Miss Granger! I am not preventing your – _these_ – students from attending the official Hogwarts Potions lesson that is taking place in the basement, but I am–"

"–Appello. Mr Snape's class is not a legitimate Potions lesson but an indulgence in bad manners at best and child abuse at worst, whereas my class is properly authorised."

"SILENCE!" cried Snape. "I will not tolerate this! Either you immediately–"

"–Appello. To obstruct, divert, or otherwise impede a student who is claiming Appello is itself an offence under Article Thirty-eight and subject to a disciplinary hearing."

"THE – BOARD – WILL – NOT – LISTEN – TO – YOU! Is that clear!" bellowed Snape.

"THEY – HAVE – NO – CHOICE," Hermione stated quite firmly – and rather loudly. "The Board are bound by the Founders' magic in these situations, as are we all."

"Miss Granger," said McGonagall, striving to bring herself under control, "you have no idea how dangerous is the ground on which you tread. I have no choice but to refer this incident to the Headmaster. You are almost certain to face expulsion from Hogwarts unless you conform. You two boys – you will immediately return to Professor Snape's Potions class and serve out any punishment he deems fit."

"Appello," said Ron, his voice wavering only a little.

"Appello," echoed Neville, trying hard to sit up straight.

There was silence for several seconds except for the gentle bubbling of two cauldrons which now caught Snape's attention.

"How _dare_ you steal ingredients and equipment from the stores!"

"–Appello! Article Sixty-four states that direct accusations of crime must never be made without strong evidence, failing which an apology is required. Everything here is purchased by myself and I have the receipts to prove it. The Founders rules demand an apology."

" _Demand?_ I won't stand for this!" He swept forward and began angrily examining potions bottles, packets, and boxes, calming down to a sheepish scrutiny within moments as he realised they had all been supplied by a completely different pharmacy to the one used by Hogwarts. He inspected the contents of the cauldrons which had now thickened and lost colour.

"What is this nonsense being brewed?" He glanced at the blackboard and snorted, "You have it completely wrong and this is not the potion set for today!"

"Appello. The–"

"STOP! STOP THIS NOW!" McGonagall shook her head. "You will all accompany me to the Headmaster's office. He shall decide on a suitable punishment."

Her eyes swept disdainfully around the room then she strode out of the door where she folded her arms and waited. Ron and Neville looked at Hermione and she nodded. As they went out, Snape vanished all the equipment and wiped the blackboard with a few waves of his wand.

"Appello," said Hermione at the doorway. "Destroying evidence and destroying a student's property are both violations of–"

"SILENCE!" cried Snape.

"Appello. A student's legitimate Appello MUST be heard."

Snape groaned in exasperation. "Then let the Headmaster hear it just before he expels you."

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The Headmaster's Decision

"Ah! I see you've found your missing students, Severus," said Dumbledore as Hermione and the others filed into his office. When he saw the serious expressions on the faces of his staff he remained seated behind his desk. Nor did he offer anyone a chair. Ron and Neville shuffled nervously close to Hermione, looking to her to take the lead.

"It's a sorry tale, Headmaster," replied Snape. "They were caught in the act of carrying out their own dangerous potions experiments using stolen property. They then brazenly refused to return to class, and their ringleader – Granger here – was persistently abusive and disrespectful both to myself and the Deputy Headmistress."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore peered at Hermione over his half-moon spectacles. "And what explanation have you to offer?"

"If you _p-pleasthe, thsir,_ M-Mister _Sthnape's_ account _isth falsthe on every point._ No _exthperimentsth_ were carried out, and our activity was not _dangerousth._ Nor did we _refusthe_ to attend _classth_ because we WERE already in _Potionsth classth_ as the magical roll call will testify. Also, I _thshowed_ full _resthpect_ at all _timesth_ both to Mr _Sthnape_ here and _Professthor_ McGonagall."

"You see for yourself how rude she–!" began Snape but Dumbledore raised a hand and Snape fell silent.

"And you do not feel it is disrespectful to address _Professor_ Snape incorrectly?"

"But _sthir_ , I _am_ addressing Mr _Sthnape_ correctly because he _isth_ not a qualified _professthor._ It would only be _disthrespectful_ if I called him just _Sthnape_ or _Sthlimeball, Sthleazebag,_ or even–"

Neville and Ron both stiffened in alarm, McGonagall gasped and found a chair to sink onto to, while Snape's furious glare and open mouth portended a barrage of angry words – but again Dumbledore raised his hand. "–The magical community is quite small compared to Muggle society, Miss Granger, and discretion takes precedence over documents. Several of our teachers do not have paper qualifications but possess knowledge of their subject which is quite exceptional." He paused for her response. "You do not disagree?"

"No, _thsir_. Mr _Sthnape_ is a fine _Potionsth Masthter_ but he is also the _worstht_ kind of teacher: inefficient, _abusthive, unjustht,_ cruel, intimidating, and _demoralisthing."_

Snape exploded. "Headmaster! I will not stand by and–"

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore resumed as if there had been no interruption, and cut straight to the chase, "what then was the intention of your actions?"

"For many _yearsth_ before attending _Hogwartsth_ I _wasth_ taught _Potionsth_ by a wizard who knew my father,"Hermione said – truthfully, for she _had_ taken some later instruction in her former life to gain her teachership. "Not being a _Hogwartsth sthtudent_ I was ineligible to take an OWL exam, but with additional help I was able to apply for a teaching qualification." She reached into her beaded bag and said with a mixture of shyness and pride, "Here _isth_ my _firstht-year thertificate."_

She handed it to Dumbledore who perused it carefully. His shaggy grey eyebrows disappeared up under his hat.

Snape growled, "Anyone can fake such a document!"

"Minerva, would you see if Griselda is free, please? Tell her it's only for a few moments to authenticate a diploma."

McGonagall hurried over to the fireplace.

Dumbledore said, "And you suppose, Miss Granger, that you can simply begin teaching at Hogwarts without permission?"

With the pretence of increasing confidence, Hermione said excitedly, "But Professor McGonagall gave her approval for a study group! And I looked it up, sir! There is no specific requirement for permission in the Founders' Rules and Regulations, it being assumed that staff would be managed by magical employment law. Since I am not a paid employee, that does not apply."

The Headmaster looked towards his deputy but she had her head through the green flames in the fireplace.

Hermione quickly continued, "And by the magically-enforced ruling of the Founders, a student is obliged to _attend_ lessons in the given subject – which we all did, including myself."

"What's going on, Minerva?" murmured Madam Marchbanks who was now standing beside McGonagall over by the fireplace. "I can't spare much time,"

"Ah, Griselda," smiled Dumbledore. "I won't keep you more than a minute or so, but I have to ask, do you know this person?" He gestured towards Hermione.

Madam Marchbanks came forward, squinting at the young girl. "You do seem vaguely familiar..."

Hermione said, "We met at the Ministry in July, Madam Marchbanks, remember? Hermione Granger. I was with my father."

Dumbledore handed the certificate to Madam Marchbanks.

"Ah, yes, now I vaguely recall being astonished at how young you were. Exceptional marks, my dear, exceptional. You are very gifted in the teaching of Potions."

Hermione shook her head. "Thank you, but it was really only because of studying under the care of a great wizard. It makes all the difference, don't you think, when the teacher lovingly nurtures and corrects a child instead of breaking her spirit by cruelly punishing every honest mistake?"

"Absolutely! I could not agree more! Albus, you have here a wonderful student-teacher who will flower into greatness if you give her the opportunity."

"Thank you very much, Griselda," said Dumbledore.

Well, if that is all, I must be going..." She handed the certificate to Hermione and bustled off via the Floo.

"Experience is far more important than a scrap of parchment," snarled Snape, "Granger was teaching the wrong potion in the wrong way and the results were a disaster!"

Hermione was ready for this. "No, Headmaster, the _remainder_ in the cauldrons became slightly over-stewed because of Mr Snape's interruption of my lesson. Also my methods are more efficient than his own so we finished earlier. Here are the correct results." She handed Dumbledore the two vials that Ron and Neville had produced.

"You prepared those beforehand!" spluttered Snape, "AND they're the WRONG potion!"

"The official first-year syllabus outlines mandatory potion _types_ which must be covered. The one I elected to teach in this lesson covers the widest range of ingredients and preparation methods in its type, and is also fun."

"FUN!" Snape threw up his hands in despair. "Students are not here at Hogwarts School of Magic to _enjoy_ their education!"

Dumbledore peered at the label of one of the vials that Hermione had given him. "You made this, Mr Weasley?"

"Uuh... yes, sir," Ron said warily. "It's hiccupping solution."

"Is it indeed? May I?" He unstoppered the little bottle and raised it to his lips.

"Headmaster!" cried Snape. "Weasley is notoriously useless at following the simplest of instructions – and that potion has not been tested yet!

"And you know that, how?" said Dumbledore with a quizzical stare.

McGonagall gasped in realisation. "They'd just syphoned it out as we arrived!"

"Syphoned, not ladled or poured?" murmured Dumbledore, nodding his head. "That sounds right for this mixture and the colour looks ideal for strength." He took a sip.

"Well... hic ... I do believe ... hic ... one taste was ... hic ... more than ... hic ... ade– hic – quate proof." He drew his wand and with a slight flick, his hiccupping ceased. "Well done, Mr Weasley. Five house points I believe that merits." He passed the vials back to Hermione. "When you have time, Miss Granger, you should _amuse_ yourself by testing Mr Longbottom's mixture – I agree it is rather _fun_. However..."

His levity ended with a frown. "I shall take only ten house points from each of you for failing to attend your approved class and caution you that–"

"Appello," said Hermione, quite firmly. Snape rolled his eyes and gestured towards Hermione as if she were proving his claim of disrespect.

"I beg your pardon?" said Dumbledore.

"I am appealing against your punishment, Headmaster, as provided by the Founders' Rules. We all _did_ attend an approved class."

"Miss Granger, as Headmaster, I have not approved your class and insist that you attend Professor Snape's class."

"With respect, a headmaster of Hogwarts is not empowered to overrule the Founders' regulations which are absolute and magically enforced. They define a lesson as one given at the school by an authorised teacher – which I am. We have not broken any rule so there can be no punishment for this or any future lessons I wish to give."

"Miss Granger, you have staged your protest but you cannot seriously expect to _continue_ to give Potion lessons?"

"I know of no obstacle to my intentions."

"I shall have no recourse but to expel you from Hogwarts. Is that not obstacle enough?"

"There can be no legality to such a decision. The Board of Governors would have to override it when they receive my Appello together with detailed, reasoned arguments supporting it."

Dumbledore blinked. "I see you have given this much thought but I will not allow it."

"Very well, Headmaster. Under the several Appellos that I've verbally lodged before witnesses, I have the right to appoint a legal representative to gather testimony from all students past and present against Mister Snape's abuse, some of which is definitely criminal–"

"Outrageous!" thundered Snape. "I refuse to listen to–"

With the aid of a weak Sonorous charm, Hermione continued talking slightly louder over Snape's protests, "–After his dismissal and sentencing by the Wizengamot and my expulsion is overturned, I shall return to Hogwarts and accept lessons by whichever new Potions professor you appoint – subject to my own approval, of course. There is also the matter of expensive personal property being stolen and destroyed – my equipment and Ron's notebook. If you would confirm my expulsion, Headmaster, I have a lengthy statement already prepared for publication in the Daily Prophet but there'll be much other work to do, commencing with–"

"–So it was always your intention to provoke me into expelling you?"

"My intention, Headmaster, was to reveal to you that the Founders' magic can still trump cruel injustice, and I also wished to discover if it is your intention to support child abuse _knowingly."_

There was a frozen silence in the office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. One portrait fainted and even McGonagall was gripping her chair in case she fell off it.

Dumbledore said, "You consider Professor Snape's actions to be that serious?"

"I do, sir."

"Then you three will please wait outside while I discuss the situation with my staff."

Ron and Neville followed Hermione outside where she asked Ron to hold her hand and keep lookout, then immediately dipped her invisible head back through the wall to observe and listen to what was being said in the Headmaster's office.

"–seriously be considering allowing her to get away with this!"

"Severus, you have brought this humiliation upon yourself. In any event we have been outmanoeuvred."

"By a first-year who is unremarkable and unresponsive in class, yet possesses a teaching qualification! Has it not occurred to you Albus that her behaviour is not always that of a young child!"

McGonagall said, "An extremely bright and articulate child – and might I add very courageous one too. Yes, she is very nervous of people at first but she is a true Gryffindor who overcomes her fears and stands up for what she believes is right."

Dumbledore said, "Thank you, Minerva. Would you then ask Filius to join us? I believe he is in the staff room so you can use the Floo."

"Filius? Yes, of course, Headmaster."

As soon as McGonagall's head was in the flames again, Dumbledore whispered, "Severus, what precious little we know of the Black Arc is that it grows stronger year by year. If they wished to recruit a spy, who better placed than yourself? The Order needs you here, Severus, but at what cost to the children? The other reason you know. Harry will always be a target and may I remind you that your debt to Lily Potter is great. Despite the difficulties for you, I must put in place certain measures..."

McGonagall said, "Filius had already left, Headmaster. I've sent a Patronus to find him. Hopefully he won't be long."

"Thank you, Minerva."

"What measures, Albus?" frowned Snape.

"You will no longer deduct house points or give detentions but–"

"Preposterous!"

"–but refer all punishments to the appropriate head of house or to myself. Awards to Slytherins likewise will be judged by me. You will strive for fairness and impartiality in your class, and if you are incapable of verbally encouraging your students, then you will find some other way to reward them."

"This is insufferable! How can–!"

Hermione sensed Ron's virtual hand tighten on hers so she quickly withdrew and became visible and solid again.

"Someone's coming up the stairs!" whispered Neville.

The top of Professor Flitwick's head appeared soon after, followed by his face. When he saw the three, the little man squeaked, "I assume the blame for my being summoned to the Headmaster during my free time can be laid at your doorstep?"

"Sorry, sir," said Hermione.

He knocked on the door.

"Enter."

As soon as the door closed, Hermione grabbed Ron's hand again and dunked her face through the wall.

"Yes, thank you, Filius. I would like your opinion of one of your Charms students."

"Hermione Granger, I take it?" said Flitwick. When Dumbledore bowed his head in assent, Flitwick continued, "A very good student who has no difficulties with the course set because her related magical knowledge and intelligence is of a very high level. So much so that..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I confess I am surprised and a little disappointed she wasn't sorted into Ravenclaw."

McGonagall said, "She suffered quite a long hat stall, Albus. Do you remember?"

"I do. And if I didn't know better..."

"What, Headmaster?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. The Sorting has been magically infallible for a thousand years."

"What if it was not her?" growled Snape. "A Gryffindor friend in her guise?"

"The Hat would know!" cried McGonagall. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying I suspect there is more to little Miss Granger than appears."

"She's smart, that's for sure," said Flitwick, "and plays her cards close to her chest. I've known her to help others learn a charm that she herself had supposedly just cast for the first time."

"Indeed?" said Dumbledore. "You think she–?"

McGonagall cut in. "She is a quick learner because she researches ahead. She almost Transfigured a match into a needle at her first attempt! Well, it was certainly sharp and silvery. She told me that at an early age she'd practised many spell movements with a trainer wand even though such a wand cannot actually channel Transfiguration magic. Headmaster, we cannot condemn a child for being bright, ambitious, and strong-willed!"

"There. Must. Be. Discipline!" Snape barked.

"Yes, there must," said the Headmaster. "Minerva, if you would...?"

McGonagall strode to the door but Hermione was already backed out, visible, and had reminded Ron and Neville how to respond before it opened.

"Come in, children."

The Headmaster was still seated and the others standing, but there was no twinkle in his blue eyes, and when he spoke, it seemed to the youngsters as if he was far above them. "I trust you understand the need for behaviour to be controlled in an establishment such as a school?"

"Yes, sir," murmured the three, rather anxiously.

"The same applies to us all. I have therefore taken steps to change the conditions of your official Potions lessons so that all penalties will be referred to the head of your house. Care and fairness will be exercised in future, and I shall be deducting only two token house points from each of you for today's... protest. In return I ask you, as a matter of courtesy to me personally, that you will resume addressing Professor Snape in the required manner. I trust that this meets with your approval and we can resume normal activities from now on. Thank you, you may go."

"No sir," said Hermione, very firmly.

"No sir," croaked Ron and Neville.

McGonagall's gasp was drowned out by Snape's groan. Flitwick's eyebrows rose almost to the height of Dumbledore's desk.

Snape's voice clearly conveyed his unrestrained fury. "How DARE you challenge the Headmaster's generous–!"

"Severus, please..." Dumbledore looked to Hermione. "Miss Granger, I have gone out of my way to appease you and resolve the issue that has been troublesome. Please, therefore, tell me what possible objections you can have to my offer?"

"Firstly, we have done nothing wrong, so _no_ penalty is acceptable. Not one single house point nor even a reprimand is tolerable as a matter of principle."

"Go on..."

"Second, I shall address Mister Snape as Professor only when he becomes one – not one moment before."

"Unacceptable!" cried Snape, slamming his hand down so hard on Dumbledore's desk that the inkpot rattled.

"Third, Mister Snape will personally compensate me to the utmost farthing for the property he needlessly destroyed – namely, four-hundred and seventy-five Galleons for equipment, expensive ingredients, and the inconvenience of restocking my reserves. I value my time very highly."

McGonagall had somehow found her chair again and slumped into it, fanning herself with a limp hand.

"Fourthly, Mister Snape will return the property he stole from Ron, namely, his personal notebook."

"DISGRACEFUL! You insult me yet again!" cried Snape." As you were told at the time, the book appears to be a dark object and must be investigated!"

"Incorrect. The book shows no sign of dark magic whatsoever. It is an innocent writing tool. If you believed a dangerously-cursed object had been brought into Hogwarts then you would have rushed it to the attention of the Headmaster. Furthermore, you knew it was perfectly safe and were only expressing your normal irritable, ill-tempered petulance which is to inflict as much suffering as possible on the children in your care for your own sick self-gratification."

Snape's mouth was open, but for once he was rendered speechless.

"Fifthly, Mister Snape's meanness of character makes him forever incapable of efficient teaching and so long as a single student wishes me to teach them, I shall continue to do so. Those are my terms."

"Your terms? I see..." said Dumbledore. "If that is your last word on the matter then, Miss Granger, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, all three of you are expelled from Hogwarts. Please collect your belongings and leave."

"Very well," said Hermione, after a few seconds pause and with only a slight tremor in her voice, "I shall inform you of the necessary actions, tribunal date, and so on in due course. The Auror Office and the Daily Prophet will no doubt contact both you and Mr Snape directly. Thank you for hearing us."

She headed for the door with a grey-faced Ron stumbling after. Neville, meanwhile, had only half-turned to follow. "But... but..."

Hermione opened the door and she and Ron went out. She stopped just outside and put a finger to her lips. "Wait for Neville," she whispered.

"Yes, Mr Longbottom?" they heard Dumbledore say.

There was silence for many seconds.

"Nothing." They heard him take a couple of steps. "Except I'm very disappointed," he said tearfully. "We've done nothing wrong and all we wanted was to learn from a good teacher. We deserved that at Hogwarts, didn't we?"

He strode out and joined his friends.

Eyes shining, Hermione seized the hands of both of her companions. "Well said, Neville, I'm proud of you. Both of you are so amazingly brave..." She dragged them invisibly half through the wall to watch.

"Astonishing, truly astonishing," Dumbledore was saying.

"You were testing them?" said Flitwick.

"Yes, to see how far they would go." He sighed. "Utterly outstanding behaviour. Minerva; they're all true Gryffindors. Wait a few minutes then go after them and say you persuaded me to relent and that I now agree to Miss Granger's demands."

"WHAT!" screamed Snape. "Albus, you cannot mean to allow this farce to continue, surely?"

"Severus, from what I've heard today, the treatment of children under your care is far worse than I had thought. I confess I am surprised it has taken this many years for a student to rebel." He turned to his deputy. "Minerva, when you have the opportunity, sit in on one or two of Professor Granger's classes and let me know how they all fare."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _In last chapter's reviews, Brian1972 finds it becoming hard to swallow that nobody in authority notices Daggard's outrageous behaviour and that is is contrived to present a story obstacle, thus making Hogwarts not so much fun as the pre-Hogwarts part of this story. There is some truth in that. I can understand and sympathise with any reader finding the hag too extreme to be true. But to respond to the first part, don't adventure fantasies mostly consist of overcoming series of challenges? Maybe I'm not masking that enough? I confess I don't know how to improve on that while trying to make the story exciting, involving, and interesting._

 _As for believability, consider that the staff know nothing of Daggard's theft and blackmail nor of what happens out of sight. They would step in if they learned that Daggard had seriously attacked anyone (Hermione did after Aculus was hurt but she mistakenly thought Harry was the one bound on the floor in the corridor and clearly he was simply angry not hurt.) Harry is saying nothing for his own reasons that come out later._

 _The original fiction is a caricaturesque fantasy with a ruthless wizard's target moved into a children's school, the clown fraud Lockhart, not closing Hogwarts when CoS is re-opened even though its monster killed before, Dementors in the grounds and a lethal forest on its edge. Then there is the Dursleys unspeakable cruelty as well as a farcical magical legal system. So to my sensibilities, I think rough-handling by a hag fits well in all that craziness. Mmm... perhaps my story so far attempts to be more serious so the hag doesn't fit that? Still, the excessive sphinx, the seductress in the two-way mirror, Devil's Deep – all absurd in real terms but these are fantasy situations I enjoy and there'll be much more to come like that (in fact in the above chapter!)_

 _Snowdove30 is also tired of the hag – but unlike the original story, there is always satisfying payback for my villains! Keep reading._

 _oXCrystalAngelXo suggest having other girls crushing on Harry to give Hermione something else to worry about. I'll keep that open over the next few story years._

 _Ivory would like to see more of the Cathesis League, and Hermione/Rosemary's interactions with them. Yes, I've been focused on Hogwarts (and so has Hermione) but the needed political, legal, and social changes in both magical and Muggle worlds are crucial to this story's theme so there will be more on that._

 _Ivory also asks if Hermione will soon reveal the truth about her life to trusted adults. Well, not soon, at least not to many. It will remain fragmented (hard for me to remember who knows what about her!) but I like the tension (and humility) of keeping the secret. It would be interesting drama if Hermione saves the world yet dies a nobody in old age. That part is not yet planned though, so don't hold me to that._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	40. 1:A Towering Emergency

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now starting at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the most trusted members of the old D.A. Meanwhile, a ruthless half-hag has been assigned to bodyguard Harry in his first year. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 40**

 **A Towering Emergency**

* * *

.

The Dorm Mouse

Although Hermione cautioned Ron and Neville not to spread any details of how she was being permitted to give Potion lessons, by mid-November, several Gryffindors had commented on the absence of the three from Snape's class, and how subdued and distant the Potions master had become. Some rumoured he was ill, others that he'd converted to an exotic pagan faith involving a struggle to control his inner skunk, while yet others swore he was Confunded or even – according to the Weasley twins – befuddled by a potion that had gone horribly right. Yet gradually Crest members learned from Ron and Neville that there was a 'secret' option for first-years to attend a Snape-free Potions lesson, and Hannah and Dean were the first to ask if they could join in.

Hermione had been repaid for the potions supplies that Snape had vanished, and Ron had received back his Tutomee, both via McGonagall – with Ron exulting, "Snape, the cowardly git, couldn't face us himself!" – and was now sharing the book with the other three. But three soon became four when Hannah finally persuaded Justin to join them. Had Hannah and Justin been such close friends at this age in her previous life, Hermione wondered. If so, she hadn't noticed. Perhaps her pre-Hogwarts letters to recruit them at the same time had created that relationship. Had her meddling in time wrecked Neville and Hannah's marriage? Hermione's head whirled agitatedly with the sense of being responsible for their child not being born at all.

Such was her state of mind when she prepared for bed that night. As she buttoned up her nightgown she tried to calm her mind by moving her fingers very, very slowly and purposefully. One button. ... Two... It didn't help at all. By the time she'd done up the top button she was still fighting the frustration within herself.

"Aaaaghhh!" But it was not Hermione who had cried out; Fay had leapt onto a chair and was pointing at the floor, shrieking, "A mouse! There's a mouse!"

Parvati and Lavender laughed – albeit rather nervously – but Sally-Anne tried to reassure Fay. Hermione reached down towards the mouse and summoned it into her hand, holding it up for Fay to see that the little creature was harmless.

But Fay was drumming her feet on the chair in horror, practically running on the spot, such was her distress, and when she burst into tears, Hermione backed off, regretting the terror she had caused her dorm mate.

"Take it away from her," pleaded Sally-Anne in her soft voice, " _please_ take it away and get rid of it, Hermione,"

Feeling awful, Hermione went to the window and opened it.

"Not out there," said Parvati, "it'll die horribly if it falls all that way down the tower! Can't you vanish it or something?"

"Don't be silly," cried Lavender. "You can't vanish living things!" "We need a mousetrap jinx – that's what my dad uses, a trapping jinx. Quick and clean."

Hermione had closed the window and looked at Fay who, bare feet still well off the ground and hem of her nightgown clutched protectively about her legs, was half-squatting atop her chair, miserable and sick with fear, while Sally-Anne's arm hugged around her shoulder. They couldn't stay there all night. Certainly Hermione knew that Lavender was wrong about vanishing living things – at least, small ones. Yes, few wizards could vanish large, complex creatures without exhausting themselves, but a little mouse was 5th-year O.W.L. magic. However, even if she did dispose of it, nothing would soothe Fay for hours after. _After... After..._

It was becoming easier now to let remorse draw her back a few minutes in time...

Once again, Hermione was about to button up her nightgown and Fay was still pulling hers down over her head, blind to the mouse running across the floor towards her. Seizing her wand, Hermione softly murmured, " _Evanesco."_ The mouse disappeared and Hermione sat back onto her bed. The vanishing spell was notoriously difficult and rather draining when used on living things – even more so after slipping back in time a few minutes.

Fay smiled as her head popped up out of the neck of her gown. "I love this peachy scent the elves use on our laundry, don't you, Sally?" Barefooted, she skipped over to her bed. "And it complements beautifully the jasmine on the pillows too."

Sally-Anne smiled. "Yes, it's lovely, and there's no conflict at all."

Hermione felt herself in agreement, and, as she settled back on her own bed, she realised there was both good and bad in the world, success and failure – and no need to fret when the first easily balanced out the second. She slept well that night.

.

Dean's News

More Potions Tutomees had arrived from Pandora by the end of November, and it was just as well because, despite there being no deliberate persuasion to recruit them, two more Crest members joined Hermione's Potions class: Ernie and Susan, who were curious to find out what was going on and pleased to find they need not put up with Snape any longer.

"Three Hufflepuffs but none of the Ravenclaws have come over yet," said Hermione, as the class prepared to brew up a stain remover. "You'd think it would be the other way round."

"Why?" said Dean. "You mean, Ravenclaws should be smart enough to see the advantages but the Hufflepuffs you'd expect to be loyal to Hogwarts?"

"We ARE loyal to Hogwarts!" cried Ernie. "But we're also loyal to you, Hermione. You know things, we've seen that. And you do things – I mean, this class is impossible but somehow you've done it. And you've always helped us. You've done nothing but help us. Without you, we'd each have to fend for ourselves."

There were strong murmurs of agreement. Hermione's cheeks went slightly pink and she turned her face aside to cast the lesson's recipe upon the blackboard, mumbling, "Well, you deserve all the help you can get."

When she turned back she clapped her hands to hide her embarrassment. "Right, enough chat. To work! This Potion is easy but you can see there are a lot of ingredients to prepare so I've saved it for this Double Potions period. Take your time and check each other at every stage. And remember the Tutomees. Keep them open at Wizard Garwin's picture so he can keep an eye on your preparations and help you if you stray. Hopefully by next year we'll have enough Tutomees for you all to have one each."

As they worked, Hermione moved amongst them to advise and support their endeavours. "Keep grinding, Ernie – yes I know you've done the three minutes but you're applying less pressure than most of us. Don't be so dainty. Imagine those pixie nuts are an effigy of Mister Snape. That's it! Crush those nuts!"

"Susan, you're not–"

"Sorry? What...?"

"Your not giving all your attention to squaring off your ladles of bone powder. Remember, _Level your ladles_ ; it makes a huge difference. Watch how Neville does it. Show her, Neville."

But Ron's theory that Susan was Neville's secret would-be friend seemed ill-founded because both of them appeared a little distracted, but not with each other.

"Good, Ron, but just _fold_ your gecko spleen over the scorpion legs, don't beat them with the tenderiser; you're sploshing spleen absolutely everywhere." She moved on, with Ron sticking out his tongue behind her back then grinning at Neville.

"So... what's with Harry not talking to any of us these days," whispered Dean when she came round to check the size of the measuring spoon he was using.

"It's because of his bodyguard," said Hermione. "He's fine with us, really he is."

"So why's he friends with Malfoy then?"

"What!"

"Well, perhaps not best buddies, but Malfoy brought a chair and sat next to him in Snape's last lesson."

" _Mister_ Snape please, Dean, while I'm teaching, or 'Professor' if you wish. I can't have you disrespecting other teachers just because I let you call me Hermione. That's one point from Gryffindor."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh, alright, _Mister_ Snape's lesson."

"Did Mister Snape tell Malfoy to sit with Harry?"

"Don't think so – but he didn't object either. That hag was puffing a lot on her pipe though."

"Daggard? Not surprised. She doesn't trust Slytherins, I don't think."

"Who does?"

"What about Zabini? – watch what you're doing with that spoon, Dean."

Dean scooped up some spilt cockroach pus that was congealing into one big lump. "What about him?"

"Doesn't he mostly sit with Malfoy?"

"Zabini and Malfoy don't always see eye to eye, haven't you noticed?"

"Yes, I suppose so... do you know if there's any particular reason?"

Dean shook his head. "Damn! How many stirs was that?"

"Eighty-three," said Garwin from the Tutomee he was sharing with Susan and Ernie. "And you're stirring with the measuring spoon. You should use the stirring spoon."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, the measuring spoon is for measuring and the stirring spoon is for–"

"–stirring, I get it."

Hermione cut in, "Garwin, the stirring spoon has a much larger bowl so the entire mix is rotated within the cauldron, and the handle is fatter and better shaped too, so the hand is less likely to ache from really long stirs. Tell the other Tutomees would you please?"

"Will do."

"Sorry, Dean, I was distracted else I'd have stopped you. Do another fifty stirs with the measuring spoon. It won't be perfect but it will save you starting again."

.

A Shocking Outcry

It was at about this time that Hermione first sensed Daggard lightly tickling at her mind from time to time. She'd anticipated a Legilimens probe eventually, of course, and with Hermione teaching her own Potions class – that, no doubt, must have triggered the half-hag's curiosity. Daggard learnt nothing from the plain, bossy-but-nervous, swot persona that Hermione presented to the intruder, and the Fidelia charm she'd cast on her closest friends would block Daggard from finding out anything critical from Harry and the others.

Still, Hermione thought, as she sat eating a caramel pudding with Ron and Neville at dinner one evening, it wasn't good for the hag to regard her as anything special. _Hopefully Daggard interprets Harry's regard for me as misguided hero-worship, or maybe even..._

Hermione felt herself growing hot then annoyed at her juvenile response. _You silly girl!_ Averting her face in case Ron noticed, she gazed away from the Gryffindor table. Draco had finished early and, with only a backward glance rather than a goodbye, had quietly left the chatter and laughter of the Slytherin table. She felt eyes on her from the staff tables but waited a full minute before slowly turning just enough to see out of the corner of her eye. Snape of course, glowering and simmering, was no doubt wishing her dead. _What's new?_

More minutes passed. Ron reached for another jelly trifle with ice cream, changed his mind and opted for a hot rhubarb crumble and custard instead. Neville was his usual contented self, dreamily spooning rice pudding and repeatedly glancing at his watch as if he had a scorching date with... was it possible he'd made a friend he was keeping quiet about? If it _was_ Susan then they were doing a good job of hiding the fact.

A glance at the Hufflepuff table revealed Susan in conversation with Ernie. If she and Neville left the Great Hall within thirty seconds of one another then that might be grounds for optimism. Hermione resolved to keep her eyes moving around the tables while really focusing on those two.

Neville finally finished his rice, pushed his dish away, then leaned back with a sigh. _Go, Neville!_ thought Hermione.

Many of the Ravenclaws had arrived late and were only just starting on their dessert.

Goyle had chocolate sauce all down his front but seemed completely oblivious of it. Most of the other Slytherins were apparently absorbed in an extended joke being told by Flint. Was the boy drunk? Goyle was leaning over to steal a few roast potatoes Zabini had abandoned when, apparently disgusted by Flint's behaviour, he'd left the hall. _You idiot, Goyle! You've started dessert! And you can have ten helpings for free if you want so why steal someone's leavings? Typical Slytherin of the brain-dead variety._

Neville was gone. When did he leave? But Susan... well, she'd finished her pudding but seemed to be in no hurry to depart. Was Neville waiting outside for her? Yes, leaving at separate times was smart if they wanted to keep their relationship secret. Hermione looked around some more. Harry had slunk away already, still keeping himself apart. Poor Harry, valiantly trying to shield his friends as far away from danger as possible.

Hermione didn't dwell too much on Harry's predicament. She knew him well. Once Daggard was out of the picture then their close friendship would bring them back together. "You know what, Ron? Harry's going home at Christmas and–"

"Yeah, I know."

"–and I just wondering if Daggard's obligation was only for while Harry was away from his parent's protection? I mean, that makes sense doesn't it? She only came on the scene when we got on the train to Hogwarts."

"Maybe that's why she stole the oath – to find out if she can have a break over the holidays. She's probably as sick of us as we are of her."

Hermione stared. "My God, Ron, you're right! That means we can be friends with Harry at Christmas and he'll have no reason to avoid us."

"That'll prove it then," he said, continuing to scrape and shovel the final particles of crumble into his mouth.

Ron belched. To be fair, he smothered it as best he could, but it was usually a sign he'd finished and was lightly thumping his chest to coax the last mouthful to follow its brothers down to his stomach.

He looked up with a well-satisfied expression. "Done?" he said.

Hermione saw her own dish was now empty and nodded. With one last disappointed look at Susan, she rose to her feet.

" _MURRRDDDERRRR!"_ Argus Filch had come running into the Great Hall.

Everyone stopped talking, even Flint who had only just opened his mouth to deliver the punch line to his long-winded joke.

"MURDER, HEADMASTER! ... THERE'S ... BEEN ... ... AN ... 'ORRIBLE..."

Old Filch continued running until he reached the Headmaster's podium where, wheezing heavily, he almost collapsed and uproar broke out amongst the students. Whatever message he gasped out certainly alarmed Dumbledore who stood up to announce, " _SILENCE!_ Students will remain calm. Prefects, please escort your houses back to their dormitories. Senior staff, please accompany me to the Astronomy Tower. Hagrid, bring Madam Pomfrey."

Hermione immediately thought of Harry. He'd left earlier with the hag. If she had... but surely she couldn't have attacked Harry yet or she'd die herself, wouldn't she?

"She's barking mad! She might do anything" cried Ron, as if he'd been answering her unspoken question.

Wailing desperately, Hermione squealed, "Ron! Cover for me!" She dropped her bag then crouched low half under the table to pick it up again. "Say I'm sick in the 7th-floor corridor loo!"

Amidst the chaotic throng, Ron leaned over Hermione and nobody noticed her vanish. Along passageways, up stairs, and through walls she flew, anxious to trap Daggard near the scene of the crime, but by the time she reached the top of the Astronomy Tower, Hermione found it empty.

There could only be a minute or two before the Headmaster would arrive, but she cancelled her immaterial spell, preferring not to deplete her magic any further just yet, and began a search. Almost a minute passed and she was hurrying so much she almost missed it in the gloom: a long, darkly-patterned cloth atop a stone bench. She leaned closer and cast a glimmer of light from her wand. The material was far too thin to cushion the hard surface nor even to keep out the chill, yet it was twisted and ruffled as if someone – no, _two_ people – had been sitting there. She tried to make out the black markings that were near-indistinguishable upon the dark cloth...

A cry from outside the castle startled her and she stumbled then skidded sideways. Hermione stared at the floor which she now saw was slippery with a dark, wet stain. She gasped. Her footprints had skewed over others, obscuring the size of whoever had stepped through this puddle, and she dare not walk beyond it for fear of leaving her own imprints!

"Through here..." Professor Flitwick was remarkably nimble as one would expect of a duelling master, and had arrived slightly ahead of the others, his bright wandlight shining a warning to Hermione. As he entered, she hurriedly doused her own glow and became non-solid again.

With the immense power of his Lumos charm, Flitwick immediately saw what had taken Hermione a while to find, and he ran towards the bench, slowing only when he saw the mess on the floor to call out, "Albus! There's blood on the floor!" But as the commotion of approaching feet from the stairs grew, he murmured to himself, "No, wait..." He bent down and touched a finger to the substance then sniffed at it. "Interesting..."

What had he discovered? Hermione squinted hard. As she crouched down to see better, she had one glimpse of something lying under the bench before Dumbledore and the others were rushing in from one direction, Flitwick was running to the parapet on the other side, and Hermione remembered the cry from outside in that direction. She raced after him.

"Poppy! There's wine spilt here!" squeaked Flitwick as loudly as he could over the ramparts. "Had he been drinking? Perhaps he was intoxicated and fell accidentally or... jumped. Examine his lips!"

Leaning over with him, Hermione felt a dreadful chill from the night air. Far below them was a wavering pool of light cast by a torch in Hagrid's hand. Beside him, Madam Pomfrey was crouching over a body.

"No need," Pomfrey shouted back up, "It's half-melted by a narrow blast, but he was holding to his mouth what I think might have been a goblet."

Her magic was almost spent but Hermione threw herself over the edge and hurtled down to see for herself. She would never accept that Harry had _willingly_ blasted himself off the top of the tower. _And yet, might that be just the way his intoxicated mind saw as a way of protecting us from Daggard?_

Despite bracing herself, Hermione stared apprehensively at the corpse-like features. The burnt, shrivelled hands. The robes boasting a torn Slytherin crest. And the blond hair, dark with its owner's blood. It was Draco Malfoy, still gripping his black jet and silver chalice – though now warped and twisted almost out of recognition.

Hagrid coughed politely. "Poppy...? Is he...?"

"Close to death, yes," said Pomfrey. We must get him to St. Mungo's immediately."

.

Percy's Roll Call

"Line up, line up! This must be done properly!" Percy Weasley stood blocking the stair to the boys' dormitory while another prefect guarded the girls' stair. He began calling the register.

Ron hissed out of the side of his mouth, "Dean, where's Harry?"

"Bell, Katie!"

"Present."

"Brown, Lavender!"

"Present."

Dean whispered back, "Not seen Harry since dinner."

"Dunbar, Fay!" called Percy.

"Present," said Fay.

"Finnegan, Seamus!"

"Here ... over here," said Seamus, from his seat near the fire.

Percy groaned. "You must say 'Present' or you might not–"

George said, "Oh come on, Perce, or we'll be here all night! What else could "'Here, over here' mean?"

"There's a procedure to be observed in emergencies and if murder is not an emergency then I don't know what is. Now, if you don't mind..."

"Who killed who, anyway?" Alicia called out.

"We don't know," said Percy sounding quite proud to include himself in the 'we'. "Now, where was I...?"

"You'd just reached Weasley, Pompous Ignoratius" said Fred, "So we're all waiting for you to say, 'Here'."

There were a few sniggers but most of the faces in the Gryffindor common room were strained with worry.

"Dunbar? Did I do Dunbar?"

"Uuh... present?" Fay said again.

"Right... Finnegan, Seamus."

"I'm still over here," said Seamus, wearily.

Percy glared at him but ticked off his name.

Ron braced himself for the next name.

"Granger, Hermione!"

"She was sick in the bog outside, Perce," said Ron. "You know what her nerves are like every time there's a murder or something."

"Ronald! This is no time for frivolity! Miss Dunbar, since I've already called you, would you go and see if Miss Granger is alright and if so, bring her in for roll call? It's very important."

Fay scurried out of the portrait hole. Ron gulped nervously.

"Johnson, Angelina!" continued Percy.

Fay soon came back with Hermione who was genuinely pale-faced and dabbing her mouth with a hankie to support her alibi. "Present," she said weakly in response to Percy's call.

"What happened?" Ron whispered anxiously. "Did you find Harry? Who was it got killed?"

"Isn't he here?" She scanned worriedly around the common room. "I was sure he'd be here. ... Ron, I've got to go look for him!"

Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "Well, they won't let you up to your dorm until everyone's counted, and you can't sneak out past the Fat Lady without being seen."

"Longbottom, Neville!"

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks. Ron considered hiding behind the others and calling out 'Present' but he knew Percy would recognise his voice.

"Longbottom, Neville!" repeated Percy, then added haughtily, "Last chance or you get entered as a suspect!" The shocked crowd of Gryffindors glanced around each other, nervously realising that if someone as ordinary as Neville was suspect, then any one of them might be a murderer. Percy watched their expressions distrustfully for a few seconds – as though he thought an accomplice might be hiding Neville in a copious pocket – then, with a dramatic flourish of his quill, he marked his list.

Ron called out, "Oh, come on, Percy! You can't seriously think Neville could murder anyone!" But Percy had continued calling out names, and when Ron looked at Hermione's expression, he knew they were both thinking the same thing: _Or could he? Neville had been behaving very oddly recently, sneaking off on his own everyday._

"Patil, Parvati!"

"Present."

"Perks, Sally-Anne!"

"Present."

Hermione knew who was next and began to edge away towards the Portrait hole...

"Potter, Harry!"

In the silence, so many eyes were looking wildly around for the missing boy, and particularly toward the entrance as if Harry might burst through at the last moment holding a giant machete dripping with blood, that Hermione could not slip away unobserved.

"Potter, Harry!" called Percy once more. "Last chance or I'll mark you as a–"

"Present." The muffled cry had come from above and behind him. Daggard was following Harry down the boys' stairs.

"Merlin! How did you two get past me, Potter? Anyone else up there?"

"No. We came back from dinner a bit earlier. What's going on?"

"And you came straight here from the Great Hall?"

"Yes, what's happened?"

"I'm sorry, Potter, but you'll have to go on my list of suspects because you were missing when the crime was committed. You too, uuh... Miss Daggard."

"Suspects?" said Harry.

Daggard sneered contemptuously, "Summ-un nicked one of the ol' fart's lemon drops?"

"Leave it out, Perce," said George, rolling his eyes. "He means _unaccounted for_ , Harry, not ' _suspects'."_

Percy flared, "Now cut that out! This is not a game! There's been a murder at Hogwarts!"

Both Harry and Daggard stiffened with shock – Hermione was watching them closely. If Daggard was acting then she was very good – but how could she have been separated from Harry long enough to get to the Astronomy Tower, sit talking with Draco on that bench – for the twisted-up cloth proved that – kill him, and return? And why? Draco had never been a threat to Harry; he'd been polite and respectful. Hermione would have to wait until the next day to find out...

.

The Last Suspect

Every common room in Hogwarts would have been abuzz with rumour that evening except that all prefects were instructed to bundle everyone up to their dormitories early in order to split them up. So apart from localised gossip, it was not until the following morning that they all heard the grim events of the night before.

Harry, Neville – who had turned up later – Daggard, and several other 'Unaccounted for' had been summoned early to the Headmaster's office where two senior Aurors cleared them of any possible connection with the attack – all except one. At breakfast, two Aurors stood beside Professor Dumbledore as he rose to speak.

"It is with regret that I have to inform you of a terrible attack on a student here at Hogwarts yesterday evening, resulting in his requiring extensive treatment at St. Mungo's without much hope of recovery. That boy's name is Draco Malfoy."

Beginning with gasps, then cries, there was a gradually increasing uproar from three House tables, and the Headmaster allowed for it as his eyes carefully scrutinised as many reactions as possible. Only Slytherin had already worked out who was missing and they remained mostly silent with only a little murmuring and muttering amongst themselves.

Finally, Dumbledore raised a wand. It was not his own nor did he point it. He lifted it up horizontally, held it there, and the Great Hall fell silent. " _This_ ... was found at the scene of the crime."

Hermione stifled a grimace. That had to be the mysterious object she'd briefly glimpsed in the shadow under the bench!

Dumbledore continued, "We now know this wand was the one used to curse young Malfoy but its owner has gone missing. He disappeared soon after the incident, and Ministry Aurors have begun an extensive search of the countryside surrounding Hogwarts and including the castle itself. If any of you have any information as to the whereabouts of... _Blaise Zabini_ , then please inform–"

But the rest of Dumbledore's announcement was lost in the screams and cries of astonishment that filled the air. Many children were on their feet. Perhaps most had assumed it had all been a horrible accident or that a student had strayed into the Forest and been attacked by one of the creatures known to live there, but a student being murdered by another student was unthinkable. And the murderer possibly still lurking in a dark corner...

Several Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws headed out the door. Dumbledore hadn't the heart to stop them. He knew they'd be rushing up to the owlery to contact their parents. The Aurors working around the castle would watch out for them, but the Headmaster doubted that students were in any real danger. No, the early testimony of other Slytherins suggested that Zabini had some grievance with Malfoy and had lured him up to the Tower – perhaps enticed by the promise of an illicit drink of wine.

Dumbledore sighed. The Ministry would be keeping a watchful eye on Hogwarts until this mess was fully cleared up. He'd already had the Undersecretary's head sticking out of his Floo this morning to inform him that Fudge was furious. The Minister had enjoyed a long association with the Malfoy family, and no doubt Lucius had threatened that relationship as soon as he'd heard about his son. Zabini must be found – and quickly.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Well, the previous chapter was one of the most liked so far! Clearly, the lesson for me to learn is that payback is popular, but prolonged, kick-in-the-ass payback is even better! I must try to remember that..._ :D

 _Well, since you've all been so good, there is a bonus short story original fiction (not Potter) I've posted at fictionpress. Search for The Siedhmyrk (but note my user name is Tom Haskworth over there and at AO3 too where I've also done a fun graphic comic page called Harry Potter and the Noble Sacrifice. Enjoy! (and don't forget to leave a comment!)_

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	41. 1:The Tightening Screw

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now starting at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the most trusted members of the old D.A. Meanwhile, a ruthless half-hag has been assigned to bodyguard Harry in his first year. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 41**

 **The Tightening Screw**

* * *

.

Neville Exposed

The end of November approached and Narcissa Malfoy took up her daily vigil at St. Mungo's, grieving beside her son who still remained in a near-dead coma. From behind her, a hand came to rest comfortingly on her shoulder, and she heard her husband murmuring yet again how he would exterminate every last Zabini from the face of the Earth if Draco died.

But Malfoy's attacker was still at large. Not one clue had yet emerged as to Zabini's whereabouts. Two Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff had been withdrawn from Hogwarts by their parents until the 'evil young child-killer' as the Daily Prophet had branded him, was captured or proven to have left the school.

At least Harry and Neville were no longer suspect – though both Ron and Hermione had an unspoken shame that they had even considered them in any way connected with the crime. _Yet is Neville wholly innocent? Might he have been tricked or Confunded?_ wondered Hermione one evening in the common room. _Why is he so secretive about his disappearances?_ Yet she realised he must have have had a witness to account for his whereabouts that night to Dumbledore, so it could only be an innocent diversion that occupied the boy.

She looked towards Ron but he was immersed in the Potions homework she'd set him. Despite her gathering so many chicks under her wing, Hermione was feeling lonely. With Ginny and Luna in France, Harry keeping away from her, Ron – well he seemed to be thriving on interacting with his undemanding, uncritical Tutomee illustrations. It was as if, without the burden of struggling to win approval by memorising boring facts, he'd been transformed into a hard-working student, yet he himself was unaware of it. While as for Neville – where _was_ that boy?

As if in answer to her thoughts, Neville came in the portrait hole whistling quietly to himself and softly singing under his breath, " _Make believe you're brave, and the trick will take you far..."_

Hermione frowned and stood up to express her astonishment. "That's a Muggle song, Neville!"

"Yes, Dean taught me!" laughed Neville. He caught both her hands in his and whirled her around, singing and whistling, " _You may be as brave ... as you make believe – you – are!"_

His happiness was infectious and Hermione found herself smiling with him.

"Stay here, Black!" growled Daggard from across the room.

Hermione and Neville came to a halt and looked around. Harry was walking over to them, his expression hard to read.

"I said, stay, yer ruddy skelp!" cried the semi-hag.

Neville strode forward to meet Harry's approach and his attitude was clearly confrontational. "Harry can talk to us if he wants, you loathsome ugly git!"

 _Neville,_ thought Hermione, _there's a time to be brave and a time for discretion..._

"Oh, yeah? Who d'yer fink _you_ are, Longbottom, yer sick perv?" Daggard left a trail of smoke hanging in the air as she strode past Harry, pushing him aside. "Yeah, I know all 'bout yer pervy girlfrien', dun' I?"

The colour drained from Neville's face along with his expression of boldness; the jutting chin sank and his nerve faltered. Homework was abandoned as everyone in the crowded chamber looked in his direction. Occasional fights were a welcome diversion but everyone, including the prefects, knew that Daggard had been given the administrative powers of a teacher; would Neville take her on like Hermione had faced off Snape?

But Neville stood dumbstruck as Daggard continued her tirade. "Din't yer fink to wipe the paint of yer lips, yer pathetic, depraved freak?"

Eyes wide, Neville touched a finger to his lips and it came away tacky red. "I forgot..." he muttered to himself.

Daggard turned to the gathered onlookers. "Yeah, Fatbottom 'ere's so warped and twisted 'e's bin snoggin' portraits. The disgusting prick can't make real friends so 'e rubs up to pictures. Never wondered where 'e sneaks off ter? And comes back with a big silly grin all over his mush?" She grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him away. "Tol' yer, din' I? Keep away or there'll be worse."

If the onlookers had laughed and sniggered at Neville, it would have been bad enough, but they didn't. Instead they stared in shocked disgust at him as if his repulsiveness was beneath their pity.

Tears sprung to Neville's eyes and he ran up to his dormitory, choking back sobs.

"Yer sick girly ponce!" Daggard shouted after him.

"Depraved is right," Hermione heard Lavender murmur. "And to think I used to quite admire Neville."

Parvati shook her head. "I don't want to be near him again." She shuddered. "I'd feel... unclean. What if he... rubbed up against me?"

All around, others were making similar comments. "He oughtn't to be mixing with decent Gryffindors." – "Not even fit to be a Slytherin." – "I think I did see paint on the front of his trousers once." – "Do you think he makes those portraits take off all their clothes for him first?"

The destruction of Neville was plain for Hermione to see. Daggard had assassinated him as surely as if she'd removed his backbone. Everything that Hermione had done to help Neville was for naught, for his developing character would surely be stunted unless...

There wasn't much time. Hermione sprinted for the boys' stair and rushed up them. When she burst into the boys' dormitory, a window was wide open to the chill night air and for a moment Hermione thought she was too late. But Neville was face down on his bed, shaking with humiliation and despair.

"Go away, Hermione! You can't even see me. I'm less than nothing."

She grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him over with a pushing charm which held him there; there was red paint daubed accusingly across his pillow. "No! You listen to me, Neville. I can fix this but there are only seconds to spare. I know Daggard made it all up. There was no paint on your lips when we danced. The hag must have hexed you. Just tell me the truth and I can undo this."

Neville shook his head. "I'm s-sorry, Hermione, but it's all true." At her shocked expression he hurriedly added, "We were just friends. We talked. She m-made me happy. But I kept... k-kissing her... over and over. She begged me to stop but I couldn't. I'm too horrible to be alive..." He began crying again. "She must despise me forever."

"Who, Neville?"

"A girl from long, long ago and far away – in a painting. She's... special. She's..." His voice faded to a soft murmur that was almost a prayer. "Etherea."

Hermione struggled to absorb what Neville was saying. "Neville, this has to stop. It's not healthy. You know magical portraits aren't real people, don't you?"

He nodded dully.

"Right then, I can undo this but I need you to promise not to see her again and to trust me."

"It's too late, Hermione. It's over. Hogwarts is over. It was all a dream anyway that I could ever have a best friend and this is why. I can't be trusted. How can you dare to even be near me in case I–?"

She slapped his face and Neville blinked in astonishment, her fingermarks darkening on his pale face.

"Now you listen to me, Neville Longbottom! You've seen what I can do and I've never lied to you. I'm telling you now I can undo this but I need your permission right this second. NOW!" She glared at him, then her expression softened. "Then it will all be as it was before, trust me."

Neville stared up at her. "You can change this? It's not possible. How?"

"I can undo it if we're quick. We'll live it again, you and I. But you mustn't confront Daggard this time, understand? Turn away. If Harry talks to us then fine. You keep in the background. Don't give the hag any excuse. She doesn't care about hurting you. She just used you to keep Harry in his place. This time don't give her any reason."

"But everyone will still think I'm disgusting. They'll never understand how wonderful she–"

"THEY WON'T KNOW WHAT ISN'T TRUE! Don't you see? It will never have happened. It won't be simply a change – it will – not – have – happened!"

He shook his head. "I can't believe... you mean... you can really do that?"

She nodded. "Decide now, Neville, we're out of time."

"Nothing could be worse than what I feel right now." groaned Neville. "Do it. Even if it kills me. ... I hope it does."

Hermione seized both his hands.

.

Neville Unashamed

" _You may be as brave ... as you – make... believe... you..."_

The words had started to tumble involuntarily out of Neville exactly as before until he realised that, to his astonishment, he was dancing with Hermione again. But this time she was stumbling, sinking down...

"Help me back into my seat, Neville," she murmured weakly.

"Stay here, Black!" growled Daggard from across the room.

"Ignore her, Neville!" hissed Hermione. "She's talking to Harry. Just look at me. Whatever you do, don't do or say anything confrontational."

Bewildered, Neville helped her down into her armchair, but he couldn't resist looking around. Ron was fully occupied with his Tutomee, students were busy with their homework, and nobody was taking any notice of him. He touched his lips. There was not even the smell of paint nor did his cheeks sting from Hermione's slap. "How in Merlin's name has...?"

"I said, stay, yer ruddy skelp!"

"I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry," Harry was saying to Hermione as he was dragged away by the half-hag.

"I understand, Harry!" said Hermione. "Don't worry. We'll find a way..."

"You did it," said Neville, staring at Hermione in amazement. "You actually did it. I mean... you really did it." He kept his gaze upon her, thinking through the enormity of what had taken place. "And you... you live with this... living-again-thing all the time? Seeing things happen repeatedly?"

Hermione nodded. "Not everything, because I don't remember every detail and some things have changed, but yes, I've already watched Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff at Quidditch next week."

Neville managed a weak smile. "I think even I could have guessed that. What about... yes, what about Christmas? Will Mum and Dad get me the _Ultimate Book of Herbs_ I've been badgering them for?" He tutted to himself. "I don't suppose you'd know that anyway."

Hermione stared at Neville, unwilling to tell him that in her lifetime his parents had been tortured into madness and years after had their throats cut as they lay helpless.

"What?" said Neville. "Were we poor? It's a really expensive book. Perhaps I should..." When Hermione still did not answer he studied her expression. "They didn't make it, did they?"

"Nobody did," Hermione said flatly. "Everyone of us was killed except me."

Neville shook his head and groaned softly.

Hermione's face darkened. "Perhaps they were the lucky ones. I survived a lifetime of hell on Earth. Those same dark forces are again gathering in both magical and Muggle worlds and we must do better this time. Neville, you and the others have got to help or we're all sunk." She blinked away sudden tears. "But don't die this time, Neville, damn you – please don't die!"

She gave him a quick hug and stumbled off upstairs, leaving Neville bewildered and shocked.

.

The Twins' Progress

There were still a few Aurors patrolling the castle and grounds towards the end of November, and Minister Fudge had been seen remonstrating with Dumbledore that they were no longer searching within, but guarding the students whom the Headmaster had failed to protect from the violence. Padma said she'd overheard the Minister mention bringing in Dementors to stand guard at the gates but Dumbledore had protested vehemently. However, when Zabini was briefly sighted near Gringotts in Diagon Alley, the last of the Aurors departed Hogwarts to join in the hunt elsewhere.

As for Daggard, the first glimmer of hope regarding Harry's predicament came with the failing light of December. Ron brought Hermione news that the twins, far from forgetting their promise to consider ways of removing the half-hag, had been quite busy plotting and planning different schemes.

"Follow me," said Ron, mysteriously, on the first Saturday morning of the month. "When they accept a challenge they do a professional job."

Hermione frowned as she followed him out of the portrait hole. "Why can't they just come and tell me?"

"Well, they've got some papers to show you, documents and things like that. They can't really spread them out in the common room, can they?"

"You've seen them?"

"Sort of, but I'm not sure I understand what Fred and George are getting at yet."

Ron led Hermione to the fourth floor where he stopped in front of a large mirror, glanced a few times left and right, then stared into the mirror.

"What are we waiting for?"

"You'll see."

And now Hermione did think she could distinguish something – a ghostly shape in the mirror behind their reflections. She glanced behind her but nobody was there. When she looked back, the gloomy apparition was nearer, apparently passing through them and reaching out to the mirror frame. It swung inwards. Fred stood in a dark, narrow hallway behind it, easing to one side to let them squeeze by and grinning. "Step into our office."

Hermione gasped. "Of course! The fourth floor secret passage to–!" She stopped herself.

Fred looked slightly crestfallen. "You already know about our discovery?" He looked reproachfully at Ron who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

After leading them along a narrow stone corridor, he rounded a bend into a larger hallway where George was hunched over a long table scrutinising pieces of parchment. He looked up as they arrived.

"She already knew," said Fred, "and where it leads to – don't you?" he added, looking back at Hermione.

"Hogsmeade," she said.

George pulled a face. "Oh well, I suppose it was a bit much to expect we were the only ones to know about it."

"You _are_ the only ones," said Hermione, "apart from myself and now Ron of course."

"It's not much," admitted Fred in an apologetic tone, "a bit crumbly and in need of repair, but this part is safe enough."

"A word to the wise," said Hermione, "don't use it after your fourth year. It's going to collapse and I'd hate for you to be using it when it does."

Fred and George frowned at one another. "What makes you so sure? It doesn't look that bad." said George.

"I told you, she sees things," said Ron.

"Wooooh! Like Trelawney sees bottles of cooking sherry fly into her pockets when she accidentally wanders into the kitchens?"

"No, not like Trelawney," said Hermione, solemnly.

"And did you see us getting squashed?" said Fred, winking at George. "Because if you did, and we stop using the tunnel, then it won't happen, so how could you see it? So you wouldn't tell us. So we'd go in the tunnel and get crushed. So you _would_ tell us. So then we wouldn't go, but then _you_ wouldn't see it so you wouldn't tell us so we _would_ go but then–"

"No, no, stop! stop! It's not like that all. There are no circular paradoxes like those that cause such magical havoc when Time-turners are misused. I only see what is probable and even then some things are more definite than others. It appears certain that the tunnel will collapse but what happens to you is less certain. For instance, now I've warned you, you might be stupid enough to spend more time in here watching for it to happen. I'd hate to be the cause of masonry being damaged as it bounces off your thick skulls."

George smirked disbelievingly. "Thing is though, we've grown quite attached to using this tunnel."

"Yes," said Fred, "and depend on it remaining open until they end of our seventh year. You think you could manage to 'see' that for us?" He nudged George on the arm.

Hermione frowned. "Suppose I tell you about another tunnel? A better tunnel? One that leads directly into Honeydukes cellar? One that _does_ remain open beyond your seventh year?"

Fred blinked. George held his breath. Fred recovered first. "Who do we have to kill?"

"Tell us what you've found about Daggard and I'll show you the other tunnel."

"Deal!" said George and Fred in unison. Fred sniggered. "We were going to tell you anyway."

"So was I," smirked Hermione.

"Right to business..." said George. "We considered several options that all came to a dead end."

Fred said, "Very dead, some of them if you catch our drift."

"Then we realised we needed to approach the whole problem from the opposite direction – from the very beginning."

"The oath?" said Hermione, glancing over the many parchments and sheets littered on the tabletop.

"Exactly," said George. "We've been owling Dad regularly for the last month or so, telling him we were conducting a research project for our Ancient Runes studies. Legally, a copy of all runic oaths should be lodged with the Ministry so we were hoping to find Daggard's. Unfortunately, not everyone sticks with the absolute letter of the law."

"Disgraceful," said Fred.

"You mean the oath isn't working at all!" cried Ron.

"Oh, it's working alright – presumably anyway," said George. "The magic is in the runes, and not registering a written oath has no effect on that. Registration is simply an official record in case of later disputes." – "Yes, like explaining why somebody's arms and legs suddenly fell off," butted in Fred – "However," George continued, "something very interesting has emerged."

"Which is?" Hermione said eagerly.

"Runic oaths are incredibly difficult and complicated to create so most of them are simply copies of established forms that are customised for the particular requirement. Because of the obscure nature of most of these ancient oaths, using one of them as a template can be risky."

Fred said, "–leading to flaws and–"

"–loopholes," said George. "We've found quite a few that never exactly did what they were supposed to."

"Yes, one seventeenth century monk swore to watch over the Lord of the manor's daughter while he was away," said Fred with a wink and a grin.

"He watched over her alright," continued George, picking up a tatty scrap of old parchment and waggling it about. "But while the oath forced the monk to protect his daughter from _other_ would-be paramours, it failed to include the monk himself and she finished up–"

"–Okay, okay, I get the picture," said Hermione quickly. "So there's a loophole in Daggard's oath?"

"Uuh... well, that we don't know until we see the oath itself," said George.

"But there's a good chance," said Fred.

"That's it?" said Hermione. "That's what you've come up with after three months? A good chance?"

Fred and George looked at each other sheepishly.

"Anyway, you can't," said Hermione. "The oath has been stolen."

Fred seemed to deflate at the thought of all their work being a total waste but George was indignant. "When? Where? How? Why? By whom?"

"By Daggard herself. She took it from Harry's travel chest."

Fred and George looked at one another. George's head swivelled back to face Hermione. "And you didn't think that was a bit odd?"

"Yes, I did. I can't believe she'd think destroying the document would make any difference to the magic, and why would she want to read it again? She already knows what's in it."

George leaned back with a smug expression on his face. "And we thought you were smart..."

"What do you mean?"

"Has it not occurred to you that _she_ doesn't want to read it; she wants to stop _others_ from reading it."

Hermione's mouth opened in a big 'O'.

Ron said, "You think there's...? What?"

"–that there's almost certainly something in the oath she doesn't want anyone else to notice. Until we see it though, we won't know what," said George.

Hermione thanked the twins and left with Ron. As they walked back to the common room, Ron said, "Can you get it back, Hermione? Without the hag knowing?"

"Tricky but possible – though there might be an easier way to learn what was in that oath."

"What's that?"

"Ask the other party to the agreement – and he's right here in this school."

Ron frowned. "Who?"

"James Potter," said Hermione.

.

Harry's Loss

Harry Potter slung his towel over a radiator to ensure it would stay fluffy-dry then walked across to enjoy the warm spray of his extended Sunday morning shower before anyone else was up. Using the bathroom was one of the few situations when his hag bodyguard was content to wait outside in the corridor to stop anyone else entering, and it would feel good to be cleansed of her stink for a while. He stepped into the cubicle and stood for a while before soaping himself down then he rotated to let the water wash it all away while he relaxed. As he upturned his face to try to clear his eyes so he could see, he heard a faint whisper...

"Pssst!"

"Aaaagh!" Harry almost slipped over at the sound of a girl's voice in the shower with him.

"It's me, Hermione."

Soap stinging his eyes, he grabbed blindly at the handrail to steady himself, squirming around to face away from her. "Hermione! How long have...?"

"Have I been here? Long enough to notice your towel fell down behind the radiator."

Harry groaned. "Can you get it for me, please?"

"In a minute. Listen, this is important."

As his vision cleared, he groped for the brass water handle and turned it from hot to cold, hoping to diminish his embarrassment.

Hermione said, "Where's your bag? I need to ask James something."

"What!" Harry spun round, his mouth wide and gasping. "No!" He avoided looking at Hermione as he ran past her towards the radiator where he fell to his knees and scrabbled underneath for his towel.

"What do you mean, 'no'? We need to find out what exactly was in the oath."

"Where is it, Hermione!"

"You told me Daggard took it!"

"The towel I mean!"

"Oh, sorry, I've got it here..." Hermione held it out and he backed up to her to take it.

"So where's your bag, Harry?"

"Uuh... It's erm..." Harry hung the towel around his waist, tucked it in and patted it down but it did no good. Reluctantly he turned to face her. He gasped. "You've got all your clothes on!"

Gulping and puffing out her cheeks, Hermione spluttered. "Of course I have. Did you imagine I was naked!"

"Well you were right there in the... oh, you used your spell?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but at that moment the magical sprinkler turned itself off. As the loud hiss ended, an awkward silence remained between the two friends, and she struggled to break it. "Erm... so can you get it for me, please? Your dad's picture?"

"Yes, uuh... I'll find it later."

"Later? We want it now. Look, the twins think there might be a–"

"–Oh, I just remembered, I think I forgot to bring the portraits to Hogwarts with me."

Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "What? I've seen you talking to them more than once!"

"I meant, I er... lost them. Yes. Sorry, I left them somewhere."

Realisation dawned in Hermione's mind. "Oh, no... Daggard's got them, hasn't she?" She shook her head slowly. "Oh well, I'll just have to–"

"NO!"

"Harry, stop this! You can't keep hiding things from me. We're a team, you and I. Look, I know she's threatened to hurt your friends but–"

Harry stiffened for a moment, then his shoulders sagged. His eyes were watering but it wasn't the soap. "She killed my mum, Hermione. She killed her."

"Wha...?" Hermione was dumbstruck.

"That day you escaped Daggard's binding spell. The hag's knife is cursed. She scraped across the enamel of Mum's portrait and it all cracked and broke away in tiny bits. I heard her scream, Hermione. I heard Mum screaming..."

"Why, that vicious, evil..." Hermione reached forward and held him in a big hug. "We'll find a way, Harry. We'll find a way to repair the enamel."

"You know you can't. Magical portraits need the real living person and their knowledge and memories when they're painted. Otherwise anybody could paint anyone and question them, trick them into giving away secrets."

"Luna helped her mother make the Witch Hazel illustration in the Tutomee, remember!" cried Hermione, clutching at the first straw that entered her head. "The picture has knowledge but she was never real!"

Harry looked at her. "And she still isn't, is she? She's still not anybody who was once real. All that history knowledge came from Mrs Lovegood. Mum's gone forever – and that's twice I've lost her."

Hermione knew he was right. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

"And Daggard threatened to kill Dad too. That's why I've been avoiding everyone. She'll do it too. Then I'll have lost them both. I need Dad to learn about him and Mum and you know... sort of _connect_ with them, Hermione. I know he's a portrait but it's not the same as letters and photos. We can talk about when we were family and things they did. The hag will scour that away to dust like she did Mum."

"Oh, that's awful!" Hermione tightened her arms about him. "I hate that foul, evil–"

"But..." Harry tried to brighten his expression because Hermione's eyes were so closely gazing into his, and she looked so sad. "But at least Daggard promised that if I behaved she'd give me back one thing at Christmas, another at Easter, and all the rest at the end of the school year next June."

" _WHAT!"_ – Harry flinched as Hermione shook with fury against him – "That miserable cockroach has got a damned nerve! Who the hell does she think she is, trying to control you with handouts! It's YOUR property!"

"I know. I wish she'd just... go away. Can't you make her... disappear or something?"

"Harry, you can't vanish a person – well, not without enormous power if at all. I doubt I could. I doubt anyone ever has or there'd be people disappearing all over the place! Imagine it! Puff! In the street. Gone without trace. No, you'll learn that in fifth year. A mouse or a lizard can be vanished, maybe even a cat – but not a Kneazle, I shouldn't think... it's to do with magical and physical complexity you see, and it would be horrible to even think about what would happ–"

"She threatened to hurt Ron and Neville too – she knows something bad about Neville – embarrassing I mean, not wicked. She wouldn't say exactly, but I think she read his mind and knows what Daphne Greengrass did to him. She threatened to tell everyone if I didn't do exactly what she told me. And the worst was... she threatened to..."

"What, Harry?"

"Daggard said she'd... do tortures on you. She didn't did she? That day when you were tied up on the floor?"

"Me? I thought those ropes had been used to tie _you_ up!"

Harry gasped. "It wasn't you? Not you? Well, it was definitely a girl about your size with thickish brown hair. I was sure it must be you. I thought you escaped afterwards when she'd gone – while I was dizzying out on the floor." He paused for a few moments, trying to remember. "Well, it _was_ very dark... I suppose it could have been anyone."

"Then who? Nobody's missing except Zabini and it couldn't have been him, surely?"

"No, it was definitely a young girl. What if she was threatened not to tell?"

"Oh, God, the mad bitch has got to be stopped! She's tightening her hold over you, Harry. Look, I'm going to get all your stuff back no matter what."

"You CAN'T Hermione! It's not just about Dad's portrait. She'll hurt Ron. She'll humiliate Nev – you know how nervous he is about girls. And that girl she tied up. What if she's in her power right now? Too scared out of her wits to say anything to anyone? A hostage sacrifice ready and waiting if you or anyone else tries to–"

"Okay, okay, but I'm going to get a copy of the oath from Daggard and see if there's a way to get rid of her sooner rather than later because the way things are going, she'll kill someone anyway."

She released him and stepped away finally.

"You're all wet from off me," said Harry, scrutinising the dampness on the front of her shirt.

"What? Oh yes..." She cast a drying spell on them both. "Pick your towel up before you leave, Harry. It's on the floor again."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Well, the chapter before this one about Hermione appealing against Snape was one of the most liked so far! Clearly, the lesson for me to learn is that payback is popular, but prolonged, kick-in-the-ass payback is even better! I must try to remember that..._ :D

 _Right, since you've all been so good, there is a bonus short story original fiction (not Potter) I've posted at fictionpress. Search for The Siedhmyrk (but note my user name is Tom Haskworth over there and at AO3 too where I've also done a fun, graphic, one-page comic called Harry Potter and the Noble Sacrifice. Enjoy! (and don't forget to leave a comment!)_

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	42. 1:The Implicating Memories

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now starting at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the most trusted members of the old D.A. Meanwhile, a ruthless half-hag has been assigned to bodyguard Harry in his first year. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 42**

 **The Implicating Memories**

* * *

.

The Cracked Oath

Hermione turned her back while Harry, fresh from his shower, hurriedly got dressed. Then, with Hermione now invisible and immaterial once more, they left the bathroom together. She easily summoned and copied the oath from Daggard who had been waiting outside, puffing furiously on her pipe.

"Took yer feggin' time din't yer!" snarled the half-hag.

"Soap in my eyes," said Harry, and they did look rather sore.

"Good. Serve yer right."

Hermione shook her immaterial head and swept away down to the fourth floor secret passage where the twins had agreed to meet her again.

"It's legally flawless, isn't it?" said Hermione as she watched Fred and George study the copy of the oath she'd brought them. "I only browsed over it a couple of times on my way here, but it looks too simple a document for any get-out to have been overlooked."

"Hold your horses a minute there," said George. "The thing is, you think too rationally, Hermione. You need to look at with a twisted, devious attitude like we've carefully perfected for ourselves over the years. Let me read it out again..."

"If you must," sighed Hermione, "but it's just a standard oath with their names inserted."

"Exactly," said George, "and that's its weakness." He cleared his throat. "In recognition of _James Potter_ saving my life and honour-bound by it, I, _Steffilde Lusk Daggard_ give solemn oath on my life to preserve from death and grave injuries whilst not under his parents' protection, one _Harry James Potter_ till year be done.'"

"At least it explains why they had to wait until Harry left his parents protection and came to Hogwarts. It also confirms that Harry will have some free time from the hag at Christmas."

Fred shook his head. "More than that, Hermione. Modern magical agreements declare various definitions at the start to avoid confusion or ambiguity. These old runic oaths were governed by general definitions that applied to them all – unless stated differently."

"So...?"

"So, _till year be done_ doesn't mean twelve months," said Fred, "it means–"

"A calender year!" squealed Hermione. "It ends at midnight on the thirty-first of December THIS year?"

"Better than that," said Fred. "Her obligation will end when Harry returns to the protection of his family for the Christmas holidays."

"OH. MY. GOD!" cried Hermione. "That's only a few weeks away!" The words from Jop Gair's owled message came immediately to her mind: _Daggard's held a bitter grudge against the boy for robbing her of the glory of vanquishing You-know-who, and she's almost certainly waiting an opportunity to get her revenge!_ How will she strike, and when? wondered Hermione. _On the Hogwarts Express home? No, Harry would at least need to meet his parents at King's Cross to safely terminate the oath, and the hag would never get past the Fidelius charm of Grimmauld Place. Somewhere between then – else months later when least expected? While they're out visiting friends or shopping?_

"Hermione?" said Fred. "You've gone all doolally. We'd hate for you to be carried off by wizards in white robes."

"–Especially without first telling us where the other secret tunnel is," added George.

"One-eyed witch statue, next floor down! Password is _Dissendium!"_ cried Hermione as she ran towards the back of the mirror exit. "I've got to speak to Harry again... somehow."

.

A Dastardly Demand

Preoccupied with the approaching threat to Harry, Hermione came out from behind the mirror and hurried along the fourth floor corridor. If her mind had been more sharply awake, she'd have reacted faster to the stink and body warmth that hit her from behind. One hand seized her right wrist while an arm snaked around her throat and she was dragged backwards, completely off-balance through a doorway, and down into an ungainly sitting position on the floor with the arm still tightly around her throat. She refrained from dematerialising when she recognised the door a few feet in front of her: she was in Room 4J – the Crest meeting room. Was this the traitor who gripped her from behind? Or was it Daggard she could smell?

Unwilling to reveal her ability to overpower her attacker, Hermione's instinct was to wait a better opportunity to strike back covertly. She'd not been cursed or injured so it seemed unlikely that would happen in the next few seconds; an assassin would not have delayed but cursed her in the corridor and dragged her body out of sight if that had been their intention. Something was odd. This was not Daggard's style.

"You have to do what I tell you, Mudblood, or I'll break your neck!" rasped a desperate voice. It certainly wasn't Daggard's, nor did it threaten with magic; a physical warning was a Muggle-born's instinct except when–

" _Pleasthe_ don't! I'll do anything you _thsay!"_ whimpered Hermione, trying to sound terrified.

"You'll ask Harry to help me, you hear! Tell anyone else and by Merlin I'll hunt you down and feed you to dogs!"

Emboldened by the news that she would be released eventually, she squeaked, "Why Harry?"

The arm tightened unpleasantly against her windpipe. "Don't play dumb, Mudblood! Everyone knows he's the Dark Lord's equal. He'll know what to do."

"About what? Who _thshall_ I _thsay needsth histh_ help?" Hermione gasped, for she was struggling to breathe against the pressure.

"He'll know. He knows everything. He's the only one who can save me now. Give him my message."

Hermione grimaced as it dawned on her who her assailant must be. He'd tried to murder once; should she strike while she was still able?

The arm at her throat slid down and Hermione felt a hand groping inside her robes. In one swift move the fabric was pulled over her head, trapping her arms and blinding her to what was going on – except Hermione had been released and the door slammed before she could struggle her face free enough to see again. Hermione didn't waste time opening the door but hurled herself invisibly through it and swung left, only to find the Weasley twins walking towards her.

"Fred! George! Who just passed you!"

They jerked to a stop, looking about themselves. "Hermione?"

"I'm under Harry's invisibility cloak!" she lied. "Who passed you!"

"Nobody," said George. "We've only just come out from the mirror passage. What's happening? Is Harry alright?"

"We're just going to check out the one-eyed witch statue route to Hogsmeade you told us about," said Fred. "But if you need help..."

 _To Hogsmeade... of course!_

"Hermione?" said George. But she'd already fled the opposite way in pursuit of her attacker.

.

Memo Randoms

But fast as Hermione had sped towards the one-eyed witch statue, there was no sign of her adversary within its secret passage to Hogsmeade. She gave up after a few hundred paces and trudged back, thrusting her hands grumpily into her pockets as she did so. But her left hand met resistance. Something was in her robe pocket that had not been there before! Her fingers instantly recognised the familiar shape and texture of a small book. Motionless, hand still in pocket, she looked ahead along the rock tunnel.

Long ago, by the looks of them, a worker's bench and stool had been placed at the start of the passage – very near where she had descended from the statue – and Hermione lit the wall torch above them before sitting down and withdrawing the sole content of her pocket. Her eyes alighted on a small ledger bound in rich, red leather with a smart gold crest on the front; it was an ornately-scrolled letter Z. By reason more than recognition, she identified it swiftly: here was the book she'd seen Zabini use on more than one occasion to take notes. With shaky fingers she opened and turned a few leaves.

The pages were of the finest vellum – though magic had tinged them pale blue – and she was at first disappointed to find them blank. But Zabini would not have given her such an unusual possession without reason. _Give him my message,_ he'd said, but where was it?

Her fingers traced over the first page, tapping a few times as she had seen the Slytherin do. Nothing. Hermione shook her head and let out a long sigh. Where had she seen this rare type of parchment before?

"That's memory parchment, that is," came a voice from above her head. Fred let himself slide down the chute and George followed. "So what's a young Gryffindor doing gadding about invisibly, chasing people who aren't there, hiding down secret passages only _she_ knows about, and trying to read the unreadable, we ask ourselves," said Fred. "Spill it, Granger, we like a mystery."

 _Memory parchment! Of course! So this is what it looks like! Maybe the twins can help,_ thought Hermione. "I want you not to jump to conclusions and to swear not to tell anyone in authority unless I say so."

George grinned. "Tell someone in authority? Us?"

Hermione nodded and showed them the front cover of the ledger with its ominous letter Z. Immediately their wands came out.

"Zabini escaped this way?" said Fred. "You're crazy coming down here alone!"

George peered into the diminishing light further along the tunnel. "Fred's right, Hermione! What if Zabini is hiding out down there!"

"He's long gone. But before he left – or maybe he came back briefly just now – he gave me this notebook to give Harry."

"Well, _you'll_ never be able to read it, if that's what you're trying to do," said George as he tucked away his wand. "Memory parchment records a wizard's observations nonverbally and hands-free. Researchers and field workers use them for extended random notes – those that can afford one. But it's not visible writing; it's experiences. Only the writer himself can retrieve his own memories – well except for very powerful wizards like Dumbledore. What's that mind spell, he uses, Fred?"

" _Legilimens_. Yes, the Headmaster might be able to read it."

"So he told you to give it the 'boy who lived'," smirked George. "After the Prophecy was published, some thought Harry could walk on water, read minds, and fly through walls without a broomstick."

"Balderdash!" cried Hermione. "Yes, Harry's a great Gryffindor but just because his mother saved him from a killing curse as a baby, you can't really think–"

"I'm not saying _we_ believe the stories!" said George. "But he did survive that _infallible_ curse, so maybe he has 'special powers'" – George wiggled his fingers derisively in the air – "that we don't know about. Just saying. You know, in case you'd rather not take it to the Headmaster." George added a wink to confirm he didn't think much of the idea.

"I'll think about it," said Hermione. "Zabini must have thought he could trust my judgement."

Fred laughed. "You're joking! People like Zabini despise Muggle-borns. In his eyes, you're filth – lower than the underside of worm droppings at the Earth's core. He was treating you like a house-elf and expects you to run to Dumbledore or McGonagall like a good little, rule-abiding girl. Well it's obvious Zabini wants to do a deal. Maybe the book proves Draco provoked him."

"Or attacked him first," added George.

"Maybe," said Hermione, "or perhaps your thinking is _too_ devious and he really does want me to give it Harry. I'll consider your suggestions though," said Hermione, wondering how to divert the twins away from her now she'd received their help.

But Fred and George were gazing eagerly down the tunnel. Fred lit his wand. George looked at his watch. "Look, we'll catch you later, we just want to..."

"Sure, sure. You go." Hermione tried to keep the relief out of her voice. She trusted the twins but they were not privy to her closest secrets.

For a while she watched their light diminish as they proceeded down the tunnel, then Hermione turned back to the ledger and began to mentally probe it. Words began to form in her mind, sensations too, fears, doubts, visions... The tunnel around her faded to black as her attention focused inwardly...

 _Desperate. Beg help, Harry Black. Only lasted one hour in first-floor girls' disused bathroom before Hufflepuff girl, reddish-brown hair, found me. Took me to secret room. Brings food._

Hermione was thrown back to her physical self in the tunnel, gasping in shock, hardly able to take in what she was reading. The girl she'd perceived in the sensations-memory was Susan Bones. That _she_ could be the traitor within Crest was unthinkable, and yet there could be no doubt. Only the trusted core of Crest members knew about the Room of Requirement, and the magic would not permit entry to any other, but it would not have been too difficult for her to work out that the room could be configured for a different need: a hideout for instance! Was Zabini still–

And the realisation dazzled Hermione like a light switching on in her head: Zabini had never left Room 4J! Instead he'd covered Hermione's eyes with her robe, slammed the door without going out at all, then slipped back through the alcove into the Room of Requirement. He was still there!

Again, Hermione turned her attention to the ledger...

 _Told Draco not to keep bugging me but he's wearing me down. Decided to have it out with him. Accepted his offer of a full explanation up in the Tower, but suspicious. To symbolise trust in each other, both must drink from same chalice. I say you first. He agrees but while his attention is on turning the goblet to his lips, anger takes me! My jet of red light from nowhere thrusts him way, way up and off the tower. Panic and run. Panic and run! Oh, Merlin – RUN!_

Hermione laid down the log of Zabini's thoughts and feelings then stared into the flickering flames of the wall light. What had Zabini been angry about? Draco's words must have seemed inconsequential to Zabini because he scarcely remembered them in the memo parchment – only impressions of routinely-expressed manners to sit, to have a drink – then anger! Why?

Hermione closed her eyes to shut out the bright yellow and orange of the flickering flames but the colours still danced on her eyelids, mixing with the jet of red from the memory – 'from nowhere.' What an odd way to put it: 'from nowhere.'

Was there more in Zabini's mind-diary?

 _Always scoffed at Hufflepuffs but I'd be in Azkaban if not for the girl who brought me here. She doesn't stay long. Leaves food and water and goes. So distant, I don't even know her name._

Hermione blinked back to reality. It was obvious with hindsight. 'Susan lacks focus' and 'She's been all broody and remote recently,' Neville and Ron had said. Those were all signs of the Imperious Curse. _Why didn't I notice!_ Still... even Dumbledore and the Ministry had never recognised that Crouch was under the curse in her former life, she remembered. Had Zabini's infamous mother forced Susan to help her son? Surely there hadn't been time? And if Zabini had escaped to Diagon Alley then why did he return? His mother was as sharp as a Kneazle claw; had she used Polyjuice to emulate her son being near Gringotts, so diverting the hunt?

The remaining space on the opened ledger sheet remained blank and silent but Hermione turned over to the next page and opened her mind to Zabini's later notes about himself in the Tower, letting herself be drawn to the strongest...

 _Why? Why'd I act so foolishly? Not like me at all. Been over my memory so many times. And why cast a spell at such an angle when Draco was right in front of me and I keep my wand in my inner left pocket for speed... my wand... I remember pulling it out, pointing it at Draco – but no memory record here of that at all! Nor of dropping it! ... Aah!_

Within Zabini's memory, Hermione stared into the blackness on her right and saw then what Zabini had finally focused upon for the first time: the narrow beam of red death coming – out of nowhere! Literally, there was nothing but the empty space behind the bench...

 _As if someone else had been there but removed from my mind or... was invisible! Who?_

Hermione closed the book and straighted up on the stool. She knew of only one person in the school with an invisibility cloak and the ability to tamper with people's minds – the half-hag, Steff Daggard! When Zabini fled the Tower in panic, he'd have been vulnerable to the alteration of his memory: the odd angle of the red curse being changed and the anger of using his wand on Draco implanted in him. She'd certainly read Neville's mind; had she also inserted the memory of the kiss? She pushed the book into the bag and ascended up through the one-eyed witch statue to find out.

A glance at her watch reminded Hermione it was still early. So much had happened already, yet hardly anyone would be up and around at this time on a Sunday morning. Still, she'd need to sneak into the boys' dormitory to find out...

.

Neville's First Kiss

 _"Kiss me, Neville," said Daggard. Crimson paint, stinking of turpentine, flowed out of her facial skin as, with an evil leer, her hands pressed his shoulders down onto his bed, pinning him helplessly. "I'm real flesh and blood and you cannot resist me!"_

"NOOO!" moaned Neville, struggling to remove the hands.

"Hush, it's me..." said Hermione softly, "you're dreaming! Don't wake everyone!"

Neville's eyes blinked open. Hermione was leaning over him, shaking him gently awake. His eyes darted nervously around the dormitory. It was not yet light. Seamus, Dean, and Ron were still asleep; Harry's bed was empty and he realised with relief that Daggard was not there either.

"Hermione? What are you doing here in the boys' dorm!"

She thrust his dressing gown down on top of his bedclothes. "Hurry, I need to speak to you privately. I'll be downstairs in front of the fire."

On his way down, Neville passed Harry and Daggard coming up, and he cringed to one side. What if the hag had really kissed him while he'd been asleep? She was there all night and could easily take advantage. He hugged his dressing gown more tightly around himself and continued to descend.

Hermione patted the sofa beside her, and Neville sat down. "What's this all about?"

"Have you seen... what was her name? The girl in the painting?"

"Etherea? No, I promised – well, sort of promised I wouldn't, didn't I? In case you hadn't noticed, I've been miserable these last few days."

There was guilt in Hermione's grimace. "Yes, I _have_ noticed, Neville, and I'm sorry, but it's for the best."

"Is that all you wanted from me? You could have waited till breakfast to–"

"No, no, I wanted to... uuh... well, I wondered if you'd... ask her something."

"You want me to see her again! Hermione, it's been hard enough keeping away. You've no idea how–"

"Neville, you need to ask her if you ever kissed her."

"What! You know I did. That's partly why I can't ever face her again. She hates me for what I did."

"Look, I don't think it ever happened. I told you there was no paint on your lips when we danced. I also suspect Daggard implanted in you a false memory of you snogging the picture."

For a moment, Neville stared in astonishment, then he shook his head. "No, it was real, and not just once, I was hugging and squeezing and kissing her again and again. I couldn't stop myself even though she begged me to."

"How can you possibly hug a painting?"

He blinked and his mouth opened silently for a few moments. "That's... right... how...? But I felt her so vividly. She was warm and soft and..." Neville's eyes began to glaze over.

"False memory," Hermione said firmly to snap him out of it. "As false as the paint conjured onto your lips. What sort of picture is it? How could you reach into a painting? Think about it."

She watched Neville as he absorbed what she was saying, then he cried out, "It's a scenic view of a window in a turret! I couldn't possibly reach across to her even if the picture was real!"

"Okay, don't panic. I can remove the false experience from you. Just sit calmly and I'll–"

"No! No don't! I'd rather– uuh..." He jumped up, flushed with excitement. "You realise what this means!" He ran to the portrait hole. "I've got to tell her! She'll forgive me, I know she will!"

"Neville, she won't know anything about–" But Neville was gone and Hermione sighed.

.

Neville Explains His Absence To Etherea

"We are most displeased with thy prolonged avoidance of my chambers, Sir Neville," Princess Etherea said imperiously, rustling up her crinolines in a show of agitation. "Pray explain thyself."

"I crave thy pardon, majesty, but I was detained by foul rumours."

"Indeed? and what might be the substance of such knavery prattle?"

"I can scarcely convey the lies to one such as yourself, Princess, for they include your highness and myself both."

Etherea gasped. "Then I wouldst hear upon the matter this instant."

Neville squirmed. "An accusation was made upon myself that I defiled the lips of your majesty with kisses, causing your good self much distress."

The princess had the grace to become quite flushed and Neville perceived she could barely speak, so heavy was her breathing at the news he had brought. She raised her chin defiantly. "And how didst these wanton rumourmongers measure the _distress_ of one so far above them, might one ask?"

Neville wondered how to answer. "It is my understanding that the party concerned directly discerned my belief, or rather, my conviction, by use of dark magic: that your virtuous nature would struggle strenuously against such an imposition."

"I see. And for how long, Sir Neville, have you harboured these desires so easily perceived by the mage?"

It was Neville's turn to blush. "Majesty, I did not mean that... that is... uuh... the dark witch perceived only what I might have thought should I have had the slightest inclination to consider the matter – which I had not."

"Your meaning is, I think, that you regard my lips as not worthy of your consideration?"

Neville gasped. "Not so, my princess! But defiling them with my own mouth and without your leave is the situation that never occurred to me. ... Ever!" He let out a long breath, pleased that he'd wriggled out of his dilemma.

"Your princess is much surprised to learn that her valiant Knight has then, spent so much of his time contemplating my lips at all, let alone done so with the assumption that I would readily give leave to his desire."

For a moment, Neville was shocked. Etherea's games of pretence were so intricate that occasionally he forgot she was always playacting. Then he smiled. "I lack the wisdom to answer you sensibly, my lady."

Etherea snapped, "We are not amused, good sir! A princess has the right to know the intentions of her subjects. I insist you convey your innermost feelings on the matter of my lips that I might judge for myself your worth."

And so their exchanges proceeded for another hour at least, becoming warmer, more involved, and very enjoyable as it went on. Neville was never so free and able to converse on the matter of kissing with any girl as he was with the princess, for though the ideas they shared were real enough, the consequences were not. The same didn't apply when he returned to Hermione in the common room...

"Well?" she demanded, as Neville swayed in the door wearing a grin as soppy as a wet rag.

"Well what, Hermione?" he smiled.

"What did she have to say?" she hissed.

"About...?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

"Oh, right..." grinned, Neville, coming back to himself somewhat. "She forgave me... I think."

"No..." glared Hermione with a strained whisper before glancing around to make sure no one was within listening distance. "Did she confirm there had been no kiss – not one – ever?"

"Oh, yes, you could say that," smirked Neville. "We discussed the matter at length."

"So that's that then?"

"Absolutely."

Hermione knew for certain now that if Daggard had the ability to plant such a false memory in Neville's mind then she was almost certainly the one who had tricked Zabini too. The circumstantial evidence would never be enough to put her in Azkaban but it was strong enough to warrant a Veritaserum trial at Devil's Deep with no risk of Daggard being released. Hermione began to make her plans to strike at the moment when Daggard returned Harry to his parents at Kings' Cross for the start of the Christmas holidays. And then there was Zabini to consider. Untangling the web needed further thought.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _oXCrystalAngelXo, you asked about Harry/Hermione action. Don't read too much into the shower scene – that was just Hermione in big sister mode (or even granny mode!) in a hurry to learn about the oath. Her mind is a varying mind-meld between little girl and old woman and there she was in mature mode and was too distracted to pay much attention to Harry's body. However, Harry reacted as one would expect an eleven-year-old boy to react. These are all steps along the way to romance as Harry begins to see Hermione more as a girl than an older sister. Maybe next year they'll be holding hands but don't expect tongues at dawn any time soon._ ;)

 _Many report they hate Daggard and can't wait for retribution. These plot elements all tie the story together and are relevant so don't worry, we're getting there._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	43. 1:The Plan That Went Wrong

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now starting at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the most trusted members of the old D.A. Meanwhile, a ruthless half-hag has been assigned to bodyguard Harry in his first year. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 43**

 **The Plan That Went Wrong**

* * *

.

Calling for Help

For a full week, Hermione anxiously tried to work out how she might trap Daggard without killing the hag or allowing her to kill Harry, while at the same time revealing her to be the one who had tried to kill Draco and so prove Zabini's innocence. She fretted and worried and plotted, spoke to several people without revealing the whole of the plan she was forming to any one of them. Retrieving Harry's possessions was another critical concern, so one night she used her stealth to check Daggard still carried them all. What she discovered surprised her, but only a few days remained before the Christmas holidays would begin – it was now or never.

"We need to reveal Daggard's intentions to Professor Dumbledore," she declared at dinner the next evening to Ron and Neville, "and the Ministry too."

Ron nodded. "I was hoping you would. Personally I don't care if the old hag kicks the bucket – it's Harry we need to watch out for, and the sooner the better."

"Exactly. We could ask to see the Headmaster after this meal or tomorrow evening. I think we should make it a Crest activity. Get a few of us anyway and do it as a student self-help, support-Harry-our-leader kind of thing."

"Erm... how about Saturday morning, day after tomorrow instead?" whispered Neville anxiously. "Then people can finish their homework and have plenty of free time. I've got a ton of Charms to do."

"Well... we only need a couple of us from each house. How about me and Ron for Gryffindor, Hannah and Susan for the Hufflepuffs, and say, Terry and Michael for Ravenclaw? Then we can do it tonight."

Neville looked strangely relieved, and Ron nodded eagerly for a while before a frown of concern showed on his face. "Just be extra careful though, Hermione. That hag's tried to murder Malfoy, remember? She won't hesitate to have a go at you if–"

"Don't worry, I've thought of everything," smiled Hermione as she slipped away towards the Hufflepuff table.

.

The Master Manipulator

"Enter," came the Headmaster's voice when Hermione knocked on the door. She smiled reassuringly at the Crest members gathered nervously behind her, then led the way in.

"Well, Miss Granger... and friends. I wondered when I might be seeing you again." Dumbledore drew up enough chairs with his wand and invited everyone to sit down.

Hermione cleared her throat. She spoke slightly nervously but reduced her lisp. "We're here representing our _sthudy_ and _sthelf-help_ group, Crest, and we need your help, Headmaster."

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes did not waver as he looked at Hermione's earnest expression. "Miss Granger, you will find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who... deserve it."

At those words there was a slight catch in Hermione's voice. "None more deserving than Harry ... Harry Potter. He is our leader, and he it is who needs help. His bodyguard handles him roughly and is holding some of Harry's personal, most-treasured family possessions and threatening to destroy them if Harry does not obey her. What is worse, she has threatened Harry himself because he vanquished Voldemort which she herself swore to do."

"Aah..." murmured Dumbledore, and his eyes darted around to every corner of his office. "Family possessions you say?" Apparently satisfied there was no intruder concealed beneath an invisibility cloak, he continued, "I cannot stress too strongly that when you leave this office, not one of you must ever speak a word to anyone of what we discuss here. Is that understood?"

There was a chorus of "Yes, sir."

Hermione then said, "And there is another student needing our help whose fate is now tied to Harry's. Crest is a self-help group but not exclusively for its own members. We believe Blaise Zabini is innocent."

The only noticeable change in the Headmaster's demeanour was that he almost imperceptibly straightened up in his chair and now his eyes were piercing. "Miss Granger, if you know anything..."

With one hand in her bag, Hermione said, "Zabini's ledger was delivered to Hogwarts for me to give Harry. I strongly suspect it contains proof that Steff Daggard is the real murderer. I was hoping you might be able to read it." She pulled out the diary and handed it over.

Dumbledore's eyes lit up with hope and as his brow furrowed he flipped through the pages becoming more and more intent as he did so.

 _He's very good,_ thought Hermione, trying not to look at the reaction of the others.

Several minutes passed while only the occasional turning of pages could be heard. Finally, Dumbledore said. "Your judgement is absolutely correct, Miss Granger; there is evidence here that the attacker was not Mister Zabini but that in itself is not enough to convict Miss Daggard. If the Aurors were to arrest her for questioning on suspicion then she would almost certainly die from – you are aware that she has sworn a life oath to protect Harry?"

"Yes sir, but there is hope of overcoming that problem," said Hermione, reaching once more into her bag. "The Weasley twins convinced me that many runic oaths finish at the end of the calender year, so once Miss Daggard delivers Harry safe and sound to his parents' protection at King's Cross station in a few days time, then her obligation is over. I only glimpsed the oath briefly when it was discovered in Harry's Gringotts vault but I've tried to draw a few of the shapes I remember. I was hoping you might decipher it." She held out a worn, heavily worked piece of parchment, looking rather embarrassed. "I know it's not much to go on..."

After a few moments of perusing the crude, incomplete scrawls, the Headmaster frowned and shook his head. "You saw the complete document? I wonder... perhaps you will permit me..."

He rose and walked over to a black cabinet from which he retrieved a shallow stone basin. Carefully he placed it on his desk. There were odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols. Fascinated by the silvery light coming from the basin's contents, Susan leaned forward to get a better look. The fluid was moving ceaselessly; the surface of it became ruffled like water beneath wind, and then, like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly.

"Fascinating, isn't it? " said Dumbledore. "This is a Pensieve. It enables me to manage my thoughts and look at details."

"You mean ... that stuff's your thoughts?" said Ron, staring at the swirling white substance in the basin.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Let me show you. Miss Granger, if you would concentrate on your recollection of the oath please..."

The Headmaster drew his wand out of the inside of his robes, and placed the tip into Hermione's thick bushy brown hair, close to her temple. Immediately she focused her mind on the copy of the oath she'd studied closely. When Dumbledore took the wand away, a wet hair seemed to be clinging to it – but then they saw that it was in fact a glistening strand of the same strange, silvery white substance that filled the Pensieve. Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin.

Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Pensieve and swirled it, rather as a gold prospector would swirl for fragments of gold, then leaned forward and immersed his face...

As time passed, Michael and Terry exchanged anxious glances, wondering if the Headmaster was drowning, but when he emerged two minutes later, he appeared none the worse for wear.

"Miss Granger, I commend you on your detective work. You are quite correct; the runes make it clear that the oath will effectively end once Harry is back with his parents because their protection is intended to extend over the holidays – which means it covers the remainder of the oath's term. Intention is so important in magic as you may know. So, at King's Cross, Miss Daggard will effectively become free."

Hermione nodded. "One of the possessions that Miss Daggard has appropriated from Harry is a special family heirloom – an invisibility cloak. It is my belief that while the Black family are distracted by being together again, Miss Daggard will slip away, put on Harry's cloak, then either kidnap or even murder Harry before he and his family leave platform nine and three-quarters. There would be no evidence of Miss Daggard's involvement at all."

Hannah squealed in horror. "No!" The other gasped in shock. Susan remained strangely quiet.

"That is a very serious accusation to make, Miss Granger. However, being already aware of the threat that Miss Daggard presents to Mister Potter, I strongly agree that is the most likely moment that she will strike. I shall contact the Ministry and ensure there will be a great number of Aurors concealed on the platform to prevent such an attack. I shall also arrange for extensive shielding around Harry and anti-Apparition and anti-Portkey wards to be in place. Platform nine and three-quarters will be completely sealed off until Miss Daggard is safely in custody."

Hannah meekly raised a hand. "But what if she tries to take a hostage or escapes along the tracks? What if she has a broomstick?"

Dumbledore smiled. "The other children will be kept at a distance, Miss Abbott, and any attempt to escape will be regarded by the Ministry as a virtual admission of guilt. The magical courts work differently to the Muggle judicial system and in this case it will work in our favour. It is also likely that once arrested on this matter, then her being charged with the attack on young Malfoy will also be favourably accepted."

"Can we be sure of that, sir?" said Michael.

The Headmaster's smile faded. "Sadly, no. The political influences prevalent throughout the Ministry can sway a trial, and Miss Daggard is an expert in the matter. We must try our best, however, for not only Harry's safety, but for Master Blaise. The Zabini family have many enemies at the Ministry who will not let the boy off the hook unless their hand is forced. It comes down to this: if Miss Daggard is made to look guilty, then Mister Zabini will be accepted as innocent."

.

The Helpless Traitor

Blissful would best describe Susan's mood as she lay in the cold dark corridor with the ropes from a binding curse cutting deeply into the flesh of her limbs. It was the most wonderful feeling she had ever experienced: a floating sensation as if all worry and every care in her head had been wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a delicious, drowsy rapture. She settled down feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of the gentle, coaxing voice in her head:

 _Yer'll feel so pleasant if yer tell me what the 'eadmaster said next, won't yer Susan? Yer do wanna tell me, don't yer?_

"More than anything..." came Susan's dreamy voice, but her deeply contented smile could scarcely be seen in the gloom. "He said the platform will be sealed off so when Miss Daggard strikes, it will be a dead giveaway. So happy... so happy..."

 _An' yer wanna be even more 'appy don't yer?_

"Yes! Yes! Let me tell it all over again – with more detail!"

 _From the beginnin' then... Imperio!_

.

Christmas Holiday Plans

On the last day of the autumn term, breakfast was held in a spectacular setting. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no fewer than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles. Mountains of hot mince pies and heaps of honey-buttered crumpets were added to the usual fare, and Ron was stuffing his pockets for the train journey home.

"Why spend money buying from the trolley lady when there's all this free grub for the taking?" he responded when challenged by Hermione. "Besides, I'm still not sure what we're doing over the hols; Christmas dinner might be frogs and snails for all I know."

"What do you mean? You said you'd swapped messages with Harry and he promised to invite us all as soon as he spoke to his parents?"

"Yes, well, Luna's staying in France of course so that means Ginny will too. Mum wants a traditional Weasley Christmas at home but she's also determined to see Ginny for part of the time. Depends on the days and whether Mum'll drag me along. It's a bit of a mix up at the moment. What about you, Nev?"

Neville licked marmalade off his fingers and said matter-of-factly, "Not going home till next summer. I'm enjoying my independence to be honest. Christmas is a bit overrated anyway."

Ron and Hermione stared at him, and Hermione was about to say something when the rising sound of students beginning to head back to their dorms to finish packing finally drew her attention. "I suppose we'd better start getting ready..."

She frowned as she looked around. Harry had not come down to eat at all and she was worried about him. Despite Daggard still being locked into her oath, whenever Harry was unusually absent it was cause for concern. Still, the hag couldn't harm Harry and they'd see him boarding the train in an hour or two, safe and sound...

.

Homeward Bound

"There they are, Hermione, Harry's on her other side, I saw him wave," said Ron, as they hurried onto the platform at Hogsmeade station. "You were right to come down early."

They waited together, watching the coaches' windows until they glimpsed a movement behind one. "That's him!" cried Hermione. "They're in the second from the front."

"So, shall we...?" said Ron, looking around the largely empty platform.

"Let's wait for some more of the Crestors before we board. Hannah's usually quite prompt. Ernie too."

They strolled along, lugging their trunks on their back-wheels to halfway along beside the train as it snaked around the slight curve. Hogwarts castle was obscured by forest – though in the opposite direction, the view beyond the end of the tracks was quite pleasant. There was no snow so far this year, and the day was overcast, but the hill slopes softened the skyline, and Ron thought he could see a friendly stream flowing down between the far trees.

"We hardly ever stop to see this part of the countryside, do we?" he murmured. "Reminds me a bit of Stoatshead – only the trees are different. "One day perhaps we could–"

"Ron! Hermione!"

They turned to see Hannah and Justin coming towards them with Dean, Susan, Ernie not far behind amongst a larger group of students huffing along with their baggage. The time to board the train was drawing near.

Satisfied that Harry was safely on the train and apparently in good spirits, Hermione and Ron crammed in with the others in the compartment next to Harry's – which, they quickly discovered, was locked and blanked out by charms as on the first trip.

"What's going on in there?" growled Ron. "Why's she keeping Harry hidden away again?"

"I don't know," shrugged Hermione. "I suppose so we don't stand and stare in from the corridor window, signal to him and so on."

"But what if she's up to something? Threatening Harry?" said Hannah.

"I don't think he's any worse off than when he was at Hogwarts. We just have to be patient until we get to London then Dumbledore will take care of everything."

"I do hope you're right," said Ernie. "I'd like to see that manky old hag locked up in Azkaban for the way she behaves."

"Don't worry, I don't see how anything can go wrong," said Hermione.

By mid-afternoon, the Hogwarts Express was well over halfway to London. The sky had brightened a little – though the hazy sunlight was descending in the west. Most everyone was by now completely at their ease and enjoying the journey. Dean had even fallen asleep but though Susan also had her eyes closed, she was showing increasing signs of agitation.

Ron whispered in Hermione's ear. "It's like she's fighting off some monster – you know, when you're in a nightmare trying to wake up."

"Mmm... it's all this worry. I'll help her relax and doze off..." She made a slight movement of her hand and Susan's head came to rest on Ernie's shoulder; he didn't object.

"But," murmured Ron, "what if–?"

"Don't worry, Ron, I'm sure she'll be fine. Just focus on what we have to do when we get to King's Cross."

.

Broken

"Told yer I'd give yer summat back if yer behaved yerself, din't I?" Daggard held out her hand.

Harry almost sobbed in disbelief. "But... it's my mum's broken enamel. It's just metal now you've scratched away her image! Can't I have my dad's instead? I want to talk to him about my mum."

But even as Harry spoke, he felt shame probing at the edges of his mind. _This is yer only personal contact with yer real mother. She'd want yer to keep it close ter honour her memory, wun't she? Wear it roun' yer neck, yeah?_

Harry could see a fine chain had been melded to the small oval of white gold – all that remained of his mother's portrait. _Yes... I should honour her..._ He reached out tentatively.

 _Keep it secret, she'd say... keep it hidden... just us togevver..._

Harry nodded to himself as he took the pendant-like metal lozenge and slipped its chain over his head. Immediately he felt as if all his concerns were lifted away and a delightful drowse pervaded him from head to toe. This was right. This was how it should be...

 _That's it, Harry... she loves yer even more now. Yer can feel it can't yer? So long as yer keep it well hidden..._

For a few moments, Harry thought the silvery surface trembled and glowed a soft blue, but he felt an increasing relief from concern as fingers carefully pushed the ruined portrait down under the collar of his shirt where it couldn't be seen.

 _She'll always be wiv yer, won't she, eh? Even when yer gets 'ome, yer'll keep it on yer, right?_

" _Always..."_ Harry murmured to himself from the happy, peaceful pool in which he now bathed.

"Obliviate..." murmured the hag-witch.

.

Panic on the Platform

Trainee Auror Nymphadora Tonks watched excitedly as the Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross Station. This was her first real field training exercise and she didn't want to mess it up. True, she was ordered to remain an observer except in emergency, but she checked her wand once more – tightly gripped yet not too tightly – glanced down to ensure her Disillusionment Charm was concealing her adequately at the back of Platform nine and three-quarters, and that she was keeping the faint shimmer of her tutor, Alastor Moody forward and left three paces. If only the girls from school could see her now!

"You still sharp, Tonks?" growled her senior.

"Yessir!" Tonks straightened herself up as the train slowed to a halt and noisy, shouting students began to tumble out of the opening doors midst the steam and smoke. In the thick of them she spotted a boy with dark hair and spectacles accompanied by a haggish-looking witch.

Moody muttered, "Damned hag's mixing in with the crowd – if you have to use your wand, keep it low, Tonks; we don't want any innocent casualties."

"Will do." Tonks distorted her face briefly to point one eye towards Sirius and Hestia Black who were hurrying forward from further down on her left amongst other parents, then she snapped her full attention back to the boy.

 _Harry Potter. Who'd have believed my first assignment would be on the team protecting the boy who lived!_

"Why's he not waving, sir? You'd think he'd look delighted to be meeting his parents after four months but he's kind of... unconcerned, even dozy."

"You'd be dozy with a hag watching your every move all that time. Check your section of the wards again."

Tonks had a physical gift which included forming many subtle facial shapes and expressions, and Harry's didn't quite fit the pattern her expertise expected. "But..."

"The wards, Tonks! You and I will be central to the contact. She's as smart as she's ugly and might take only a minute or so to crack our Anti-Apparition, so keep checking them. On no account must Daggard escape!"

"Yessir!"

As the Black family came together, Daggard sucked hard on her pipe. A large gout of steam and smoke seemed to belch from the adjacent locomotive to partly obscure the gathering. Moody strode forward with Tonks close behind.

"Harry, darling!" cried Hestia.

"Are you alright, pup?" smiled Sirius, with a glance at Daggard near Harry's shoulder.

"I'm fine," said Harry.

"Why wun't 'e be?" smirked the half-hag. "Wotcher 'xpect? 'e's safe 'n sound in't 'e?" She looked around grinning. "Well, I'll be off then." She strolled slowly away down the platform. "See yer nex' year, Harry!"

Hestia said, "Harry?"

A thought whispered into Tonks' head and she yelled, "Imperious! Harry's been cursed!"

Like a breaking shoal of fish, the confused crowds of students and parents swerved screaming outwards from the group of Blacks. With one look over her shoulder, Daggard scowled and bolted away.

Moody's wand was fastest – but not fast enough. Just as Tonks shrieked, "Ward's failing," in a great puff of pipe smoke, the half-hag had twisted on the spot and with a loud crack, vanished.

Moody's face was livid as he removed his concealment charm. "Damn you, Tonks! I told you–"

"-right this moment they only flickered. I was checking, sir! They're still up!"

"Miss Tonks is correct." Abruptly Dumbledore and several other Aurors appeared looking crestfallen. "I examined them myself only seconds ago, and they were intact – still are," he added, after a swift flick of his wand. "How Miss Daggard broke through them even for a moment seems..."

"Impossible!" cried Moody, his magical eye swivelling rapidly about. "Seal the platform! Nobody goes out! She may be still here!"

As the Aurors spread out, searching the visible and invisible, Hestia crouched down and used her healing knowledge to remove the Imperious curse from Harry.

"She kidnapped Hermione!" he immediately wailed, flailing his arms about and squirming to try to break away from his mother's grasp. "She bound her tight in our compartment!"

"Tonks! Find Miss Granger!" ordered Moody, pointing at the coach doorway from which Harry and Daggard had emerged earlier.

Dumbledore said, "Alastor, you know how Miss Daggard thinks. Could she have... deceived us?"

Nodding, Moody sighed. "I'm getting old, Albus. I'll wager she never cracked the wards, but only hexed Tonks's testing spell. She pretended to Disapparate but actually pulled on Harry's cloak and legged it out of the exit before we realised. She'll be long gone – Disapparated from outside."

"At least it's not a complete failure," said Dumbledore as he swept off after Tonks, "Harry is safe and Miss Daggard will likely be captured now you have grounds for arrest."

The Headmaster found Hermione crying in Tonks's arms surrounded by broken cords, and wailing, "She _sthnatched_ my wand! I want my wand!"

Dumbledore turned to poke his head back out of the open doorway. "Alastor. Missing wand. She might have thrown it away. Can you see it anywhere?"

Moody scanned the train and platform with his magical eye.

"There!" cried Harry, pointing to the tracks under the Hogwarts Express.

Moody summoned it up and handed it to Dumbledore. Hermione's face brightened at once, but tears still sparkled, and the Headmaster asked Tonks if she would escort the girl outside to meet her parents. He looked to Moody for approval.

The old Auror nodded. "Platform's been scanned. Train's cleared too. Daggard is now officially at large and in time we should catch her. We can definitely convict her of using the Imperious on a minor and that might sway the Wizengamot to accept her being guilty of trying to kill Malfoy. But she'll only get five years for the Imperious because nothing much came of it. Makes you wonder, why exactly _did_ she Imperious Harry?"

"We may never know, Alastor, but I suspect she intended for Harry to drink poison or leap to his death at some future time. At least that can't happen now."

"Thank Merlin for that."

"And thank Auror Tonks too in my opinion." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at his friend Moody. "It was her sharp eyes that noticed something wrong with Harry, and on her first assignment too? Perhaps a commendation is in order?"

"You're right Albus. I'll see to it personally."

.

A Hag's Holiday

Steff Daggard roused happily and dozily to one of those lovely Christmas-holiday awakenings with no work for a hag to do except mince an extra heap of liver, soft light only just creeping in at the fringes of her tightly-shut eyelids, and the cool air touching her face made the tight-snuggly blankets even more comforting – all was wonderfully right with the world.

She yawned happily, too lazy yet to even roll over. Not one dream had disturbed her slumber and yesterday's perfect escape only slowly filtered back into her mind: Harry delivered safely to his parents so that tiresome oath no longer threatened her life every hour of the day! Dumbledore and those dumb Aurors outwitted as she strolled casually to–

"Feggin' 'ell!" Her voice was a croak from a dry throat, as she recalled a stupid junior Auror shouting about the Imperious curse on Harry. _Dammit, now I'm a bloomin' fugitive!_ She made a slight effort to roll onto her side but the blankets were too tightly trapped under her fat butt. _At least I escaped 'em all! I'm free an' they'll never find me!_

A sleepy smile crossed her colourless lips and she languidly tried rolling the other way to free the awkwardly-wrapped sheet. Jammed again! Her eyeballs ached as she rolled them with the lids still closed. _I 'ate lying on me 'ump like a feggin' stranded turtle!_

A frown crossed her brow. _'ow did I escape, anyway?_ Still drowsy, she was trying to work herself fully awake in preparation for a proper effort to get out of bed, when she heard the impossible: half a conversation approaching – a man's voice that she well knew. Despite the cosy warmth, an icy chill seized her body and, eyes now fully open, she struggled to sit up and snatch out for her pipe – to no avail. There were no blankets and no bedroom. Daggard was securely bound and the darkened ceiling seemed far, far above.

"She's ready for questioning?"

"Bartemius Crouch. I might 'ave known! Come to gloat at my arrest?" coughed Daggard. "'Ow'd them blighters catch me, eh? Get me pipe fer me, would yer? I'm gasping for a drag."

"They?" The voice and several footsteps came to a halt nearby but she couldn't turn enough to see her captors.

"Well you ain't smart enough on yer own to catch a cold, are yer, yer great nelly! Moody was left fool-footed an' Dumbledore's way past 'is usefulness. Me 'ump shield's me back anyway so a squad must 'ave cross-cursed sideways ter black someone like me out cold." A sinister tone now affected her voice. "I'd like ter congratulate 'em – 'oo were they?"

"That would be me," came a deep voice.

Daggard strained to see sideways. "Eh? 'oo's there?"

Adam Brown stepped into her eyeline.

Daggard tried to shake her head but couldn't – though she did manage a sneer. "Never on yer life! You an' oo's army?"

"Just me with a shield-breaking curse, an invisibility charm, a stunner, a fake Disapparition turn and sound, and a hover charm to float you back along the tracks behind the Hogwarts Express until we were clear of the wards."

"Impossible. 'ain't no Auror livin' can do all them spells so fast together."

"Yet here you are."

"Yeah, well a Ministry cell won't hold me long, I can tell yer that for nowt. An' yer obliged ter supply provisions, water, smokes for them what needs 'em. Where's me pipe?"

Crouch said, "We know all about your magical pipe – and your cursed knife – so they're in another chamber from where you can't summon them."

Even tightly bound, both Crouch and Brown could see Daggard sag slightly.

"In that case, we do a deal. Yer let me go an' I let Harry Black live."

"Harry's safe where you can't ever reach him," said Adam.

"Wanna bet?" smirked Daggard. "Yer've no idea what hag-magic can do, do yer? Harry Black's life is in my 'ands, not yours, an' 'e 'as an 'orrible death waitin', I promise yer. Now be good little boys an' release me, an' I'll tell yer how ter save 'im."

Crouch and Brown exchanged glances. Adam angrily stepped towards the prone half-hag and his huge right fist clutched her throat in a death grip. "Speaking of Harry being in your hands reminds me you're still in possession of his property that you stole, aren't you?" Adam's hand slid down from the throat and plunged below Daggard's neckline.

"'Oy, yer pervy bugger! 'and's off me knockers!"

"Don't flatter yourself," growled Adam, pulling out a mokeskin pouch from the half-hag's robes.

The eyes of Daggard bulged whitely in the gloom. "'ow d'yer do that? 'ow d'yer even see it? Who the fegg are yer, anyway?"

Adam winked at her. "I'm Adam Brown and you are a total prat. Never buy a cheap female mokeskin pouch because it can be easily seen after drinking a potion made from the pupils of a male moke."

Daggard glared, then frowned. "Think I'm stupid do yer? There ain't no such thing as a pupil – it's just an' 'ole."

Adam laughed darkly and began pulling out Harry's belongings one by one which he then stuffed into his small beaded bag, but the final one he held up briefly so Daggard could see it. "Here, you can keep this one as a souvenir. It's the portrait you ruined, and no use to Harry now."

Daggard's eyes bulged as Adam thrust the enamel into the pouch again, which he then stuffed back down Daggard's neckline. "NNNNOOOO!" wailed the half-hag, whose grey, warty face had drained of what little colour it'd had.

"Don't worry, Harry won't want it; it will only remind him of his loss."

"GEDDIT ORF ME! GEDDIT IT AWAY!"

"But why? It's only harmless gold and silver alloy." Adam turned away and walked off with Crouch. "We'll be back to–"

Daggard screamed, "WHAT'S THE TIME! WHAT TIME IS IT!"

"Erm..." Adam looked back over his shoulder as he slowly reached into his robes. After a slow search, he said, "Mmm... seems I've forgotten my watch. How about you, Barty?"

"About me, what?" drawled Crouch.

"HURRY FOR PITY'S SAKE!" screeched the hag.

"The time," said Adam. "Our prisoner wishes to know the time."

"Ah! right..." Crouch searched his own pockets then after a while, slapped his forehead and looked at his wristwatch. "It's uuh..." He squinted in the gloom. "...something after two in the morning, I think." He tapped his watch as if it were unreliable. "Might be a bit later."

Daggard squealed, "TAKE IT! TAKE IT! IT'S... it's a... Portkey. Take it quickly an' destroy it."

Crouch and Brown exchanged glances. Adam said. "A Portkey? Are you sure? You mean... you could escape with it? Well, that's very honest of you I must admit I hadn't expected you to–"

"NOW! NOW! GERRIT OFF ME OR YER'LL KILL ME! IT'S A PORTKEY TO A PIT O' FLESH-EATIN' SLUGS!"

Adam frowned in puzzlement. "But why would you want to escape to such a slow, grisly death?"

Daggard stared in realisation at Adam as it dawned on her she'd been had. "Yer knew all along, yer bastard?"

"Knew what?"

Daggard took a deep breath. "'AVE YER FIXED IT? It's not a Portkey no more?"

Adam gasped in horror. "Listen, if you say it's a Portkey then it's still a Portkey. How do we stop it? How can we do it safely?"

Crouch backed off, snapping, "I'm not touching it, and that's final! Not till we know the exact time for sure. It's not safe."

Daggard squirmed desperately within her restraints. "YER GOTTA 'ELP ME! PLEASE 'ELP ME!" she screamed. "I confess, alright? I gev it 'arry. Just gerrit off me!"

As Daggard lay writhing and screeching, a blue flash enveloped her and, with a final terrified scream, she hurtled off into a void.

Silence remained.

"You know, Rosie," said Crouch, "you really are what she called you."

"A bastard?" grinned Adam. "I know I am."

"Well... shall we proceed into the receiving chamber?" said Crouch. "We've already got our confession and Vera will be waiting."

Adam nodded, took Crouch's arm, and they swept away through the stone wall. A few seconds later they arrived in the adjacent cavern.

"Ah, there you are," said Vera. "She's mumbling and grumbling over there and I think she's wet herself."

"Eww... that's so gross." Adam walked over to where Daggard now lay on the stone plinth, and summoned the broken portrait which he put in the beaded bag. "That's enough fun for one day. We have your confession. Now agree to three of these questions which we shall ask you under the influence of Veritaserum. We'll give you fifteen minutes to decide. If you refuse then the top three will be used." Brown floated the Triapetit list into the hag's view then turned and began to walk away.

"'ow? 'ow d'yer know 'bout the Portkey? Even Black din't remember 'e'd got it on 'im once I cursed 'im."

"I knew back at Hogwarts," Adam called over his shoulder. "I detected the Portus charm on the broken portrait when I retrieved the oath and changed the destination to Harry's home. Naturally, I checked it again on the train and at King's Cross too, so Harry was always safe. I slipped it back into your pouch then Confunded you so you weren't sure whether you'd given it to Harry on the train."

"You were at 'ogwarts?" cried the bewildered crone. "Then yer name in't Adam Brown. I've gorr'a map that... I _'ad_ a map with names on it an' there weren't never no Adam Brown near me at Hogwarts. What's yer real name?"

"Call me... Aculus," shouted Adam from across the chamber as he joined the other two.

Fear showed in Daggard's eyes. "Then you ain't 'uman. You keep well away from me, you 'ear?"

Adam's deep roar echoed round the unyielding granite walls. "So choose your three questions! Once you've answered them, then you'll never see me again!"

Daggard's growled response was too far off to hear properly but it did question Adam's pedigree several times more. He turned away and grinned at Mrs Gair. "Hi, Vera."

"Good to see you again, Rosie," smiled Vera, "or should I say, Aculus? How many aliases do you have anyway?"

"Call me Adam when I'm like this, else it's confusing. How's Jop?"

"Fine! We're making real progress at the Ministry, aren't we, Barty?"

"We've gained a little," acknowledged Crouch. "There have been three natural retirements from the Wizengamot these past few months; two were blood-purity supporters and one was a Muggle sympathiser. The new members reverse that proportion so we gained one without any special notice being taken by anyone."

Adam nodded his approval.

However, it's better than that," continued Crouch. "Old Renshaw died last month leaving his son to sign in during a lull. Renshaw was a wishy-washy in-between who was always easily persuaded by the Pure-bloods so, over the years, their camp took the name Renshaw for granted and gave no thought to the son..."

"I'm givin' yer one last chance to save Harry Black!" Daggard wailed desperately.

"She's bluffing, Adam. If she had a genuine deal she'd call it out. Ignore her, Barty, carry on with your story," said Vera.

"Well... Jop, knowing about old Renshaw's health, anticipated the loss and for the past year or two has been persuading the son to appreciate our views without making a big issue out of it. He was voted in by only a handful of our team on a slack day. Honestly, Adam, nobody even noticed – still haven't actually because the minutes still show W. Renshaw attending. They'll notice sure enough when it comes to an important vote, you'll see." Crouch turned his attention to watch Daggard who was still muttering to herself.

"And you, Vera?" said Adam. "How are you enjoying the admin side, especially with our Muggle contacts?"

"Wonderfully. Mike is making good progress connecting with Muggle industry and we're seeing the beginnings of an interdependence. "We're–"

"–Something's wrong!" cried Barty running towards Daggard.

A heavy rumble underfoot shook the mountain and Adam's stunning spell hit Daggard at the same time as Barty's. The noise stopped.

"What happened?" shouted Adam as he ran after Crouch.

"The hag's been muttering what I think was a demonic incantation. I'm hoping we stopped her in time." He looked anxiously around.

Vera approached them cautiously. "You're serious? There are such things as demons? You mean she was summoning a demon? Here? What is it? I mean, what might it do?"

Crouch nodded. "It's very dark magic. Some say demons were once men hoping to become so again. Such fiends will do absolutely anything to escape their hellish existence even for a few days' respite."

Vera gnawed worriedly at her knuckles. "You mean from... down there?" She pointed down into the Earth. "But what will it do? Are we safe here?"

Adam said, "The most ancient are very powerful and collect souls for their chimerical master."

Vera shrieked and covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

Crouch shook his head. "That's not likely in this case. Daggard would have needed a sizeable runic circle and a sacrifice as well as a ritual lasting days. No, I think at most she'd have been trying to call up a newly-formed evil spirit. While such a tormented soul would be helplessly weak at first and take a long time to ascend from its fiery pit and strive to become material, the beast would mature, grow in strength and might help Daggard escape."

"How long before it got here?" Vera's head was jerking in different directions as she peered anxiously into every corner.

"Don't worry about it yet. I doubt that Daggard completed a full pattern of incantations, and she'd have had to do it wandlessly."

"But what if she did? How long for it to get here?" insisted Vera.

"Weeks perhaps. We can't stand guard here permanently." Crouch frowned as he thought through the possibilities. "You're right, of course, we can't take chances. ... We'll have to set up a Foe-glass connected to portable Sneakoscopes. Yes, that should do it. Demons are impervious to most wizard-magic but they're only given limited time to fulfil their task."

"What do you mean?"

Crouch said, "Evil will punish them–"

"Evil! You mean...?"

Crouch blinked in surprise, then his face cleared. "Ah... I keep forgetting your Muggle myths. No need to fear evil itself because it's powerless except to those who enslave themselves to it. Only those who serve evil are afraid of it because their own evil will punish them even more mercilessly if they do not fulfil the summons promptly. Our best chance is for two or three of us to trap it somehow while it's young and inexperienced, then, if the demon has failed in its duty, evil will drag it back down to an even deeper, more horrific hell than it suffered before."

"Duty? said Vera.

Adam said, "A demon is summoned to a task, usually in return for the soul of the one who calls it – Daggard in this case – unless the task itself is to take a soul. They say failure carries a dreadful penance."

Vera shook her head. "Look, I'm not trying to be funny but, I mean, yes, you sound worried yet–"

"We are!" said Adam.

"Not ENOUGH!" shouted Vera. "It's a DEMON! For real? You should be frantic!"

Adam put his hand around Vera's shoulder to try to comfort her. "Summoning a demon is indirectly a pact with the devil. If Daggard receives demonic help to escape then ultimately her own soul will be forfeit. And remember, she won't have her magic much longer..."

Reaching into the beaded bag, Adam retrieved and held up a tiny vial in which squirmed a ravenous hirudo. "Barty, are we agreed that Daggard has confessed to attempting to murder Harry which at the very least merits a term in Devil's Deep and the loss of her magic?"

"Quite correct," Crouch nodded firmly, "and I would say that crime alone merits a term of life because a child being consumed by flesh-eating slugs would take months of the most excruciating–"

"STOP! STOP!" wailed Vera, clamping her hands over her ears. "I don't want to think about it."

Adam looked thoughtfully at the young woman. "So, Vera, does that mean you accept our testimony to Daggard's confession and agree that she must at least lose her magic?"

Vera nodded. "Definitely. Absolutely. Totally!"

They watched as Adam placed the leech on Daggard's eye, and the creature soon burrowed inside.

"Are you sure it will work on a creature such as this?" said Crouch. "After all, she's not fully human."

Nodding thoughtfully, Adam said, "All living things have their own genetic code and I prepared this parasite most carefully to latch onto hers. But it will not go well with her."

"Why? What do you mean?" said Vera.

"A hag is entirely a magical creature and not human at all – never was. Like dragons, unicorns, and other such creatures, they cannot exist without magic. A half-hag like Daggard will feel not only the loss of all her magic but the absence of that part of her mind and being which she valued most. She'll suffer for months before she comes to terms with the two things she detests: being non-magical _and_ a human."

Adam was right; when Daggard awoke she moaned horribly and continuously, even during her questioning under Veritaserum. The rest was a formality. Numerous crimes were proven and the trio had no trouble sentencing her to life in Devil's Deep.

"It don't end 'ere!" she squealed as the three prepared to depart. "There'll be payment taken fer what yer've done ter me! Just you wait an' see!"

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _A guest reviewer, Ivory, was a bit confused with all the Zabini/Draco/Susan/Daggard plot. To clarify briefly: Malfoy invited Zabini up the Tower. Daggard followed and under Harry's cloak blasted Draco, then altered Zabini's memories so he thought he'd done it. Zabini fled but Daggard tracked him with the Marauders Map to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Ultra-cautious, and not wishing for Zabini to be caught before Daggard left Hogwarts (in case Dumbledore sensed something didn't add up) Daggard Imperiused Susan to take Zabini from the bathroom to the much more secure Room of Requirement and bring him food. The longer Zabini was 'on the run', the more incriminating it would seem. But unknown to Daggard, Zabini's memory log recorded what really happened._ :D

 _The next chapter might be a bit late because for the last three months I've been immersed in a terrific video game called Fallout 4 and admit my writing time was reduced by my playtime!_ ;)

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	44. 1:Epiphanies For All

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry, Neville, Luna, and the Weasleys while young and, though Voldemort died early, she launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now started at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the most trusted members of the old D.A. As the Christmas holiday began, Daggard, the ruthless half-hag assigned to bodyguard Harry, was incarcerated in Devil's Deep for trying to murder Draco and frame Zabini. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 44**

 **Epiphanies For All**

* * *

.

Tidings of Great Joy

Classroom 4J was in darkness. Hermione Granger stood cautiously to one side as the back entrance to the Room of Requirement opened and light flowed out revealing only the tips of her shoes. She remained silent for a while, listening.

A voice from within the brightness softly said, "That you, Hufflepuff?"

"No, it's Granger," said Hermione. She leaned sideways to see into the Room then stopped. Zabini was wielding an iron pipe and he looked desperate. Hermione backed away a little. "I see the Room provided you with a weapon," she added.

"What do you want? Where's the Hufflepuff girl? I'm running low on supplies. Have you brought food?"

"Better than that." She held out a copy of the Daily Prophet.

Zabini frowned. "Throw it here."

"Come and get it. You don't need to hide in there any longer."

The boy didn't move. "If this is a trap..."

"You're the one who's armed. I doubt I could even pull out my wand before you rushed me, and then what could a first-year girl do against your physical superiority?" She cast up a floating sphere of luminescence to reveal the classroom was empty.

He eased slowly forward until framed by the doorway, glancing furtively side to side with the pipe held out front.

Hermione very slowly took another step away from him, trying to draw the cautious youth out. "It's all over. Daggard was the one who tried to kill Draco. The Aurors aren't looking for you anymore."

Hope flashed in his eyes and Zabini raised the iron pipe threateningly as he stepped forward through the doorway, reaching for the newspaper. As he passed the threshold, the weapon disappeared from his hand and he sucked in air, his gaze anxiously sweeping around once more.

Hermione said. "You're free! You don't need to defend yourself. Anyway, you can't bring out anything that was created within the Room." She held up the headline so he could clearly see it:

 _ZABINI ABSOLVED OF ALL GUILT!_

Zabini seized the newspaper and elation replaced the fear in his expression. "He did it! Harry Black did it! I told you he can do anything!"

"Yes, uuh..." – Hermione was relieved that Zabini still wasn't crediting _her_ with any special skills – "but he said you must keep his part in this to yourself."

"Of course! Do you think I'm an idiot?" He tried to scan the news report, reading in key sentences that confirmed the header.

Shuffling her feet to draw his attention, Hermione quietly told him, "A message has been sent to your mother. She should be waiting in Hogsmeade. I'll lead you out but you'll have to be blindfolded."

"Not by you, I won't, Mudblood," snarled Zabini.

"Okay then. Well... good look finding your way out of Hogwarts. The gates are sealed. Snape's gone home for Christmas. I suppose you could explain yourself to the Headmaster but he'll probably delay you quite a while. Oh, here's your book back." She handed over Zabini's ledger then turned and walked away.

"Wait! You can get me out?" He rolled up the newspaper as if to replace the pipe he'd held, and pointed it at Hermione.

"You said it yourself: Harry can do anything. But he doesn't give away all his secrets. You trust him?"

"Yes. Do it."

Hermione threw him a black scarf and after stuffing the Prophet inside his robes, he tied the dark silk over his eyes. Silently she cast a temporary blinding spell to make certain.

"Hold on to my arm. We've quite a distance to go."

They walked in silence for a while.

"Why does Black associate with a Muggle-Born? Why does he rely on you?"

"An excellent question you'd do well to ponder yourself. Why are you trusting me now?"

"Because Black says so."

"You only have the word of a Mudblood for that, don't you?"

"At least you know what you are."

"I use the word with sarcastic contempt. It's pathetic that an intelligent person such as yourself feels the need; Harry never does."

More silence followed as they trudged along the secret passage towards Hogsmeade until finally Zabini mused aloud, "Makes sense, I suppose – without his own bound elf at Hogwarts he'd need to manage with whatever was at hand. But why didn't he use _you_ to bring me food instead of that Huff?"

Hermione released a silent sigh of resignation. "Harry never sent Susan – it was Daggard who did that. The hag Imperiused the poor girl to provide for you."

"What! Why would that... _thing_ help me after she incriminated me?"

"We can only surmise that Daggard wanted you to remain free as long as possible. If you were caught she wouldn't expect you to confess even though she'd confused you into thinking you'd done the deed. You and your mother would make up all kinds of excuses and alibis – she's good at that, right? Certainly that would be enough to raise questions and look more closely at who else might have been involved. Daggard is an expert at closing up every loophole."

"May she rot in Azkaban forever!" growled Zabini.

"Uuh... she's not even been convicted. She gave the Aurors the slip at King's Cross."

"What!"

"I told you she was an expert. It's mentioned briefly way down that news article on an inside page. A headline would have made the Ministry look like fools and Fudge wouldn't want that. Still, at least the lead-in makes your innocence more prominent so it's in your favour."

They walked on, Zabini muttering to himself and cursing Daggard. "Why? Why did that hag-filth attack Draco?"

Hermione shook her head. "I... we don't know. She used to be an Auror; maybe she has some grudge with his father." Hermione frowned and began gnawing at her bottom lip as she wondered why she'd never asked Daggard that same question.

Zabini huffed for a time then finally fell silent.

After a lengthy march, Hermione smelt a faint whiff of confectionery ahead and cast an anti-odour charm before opening the trapdoor up into Honeydukes. Once through the shop and outside the side door she dog-legged a few times around shadowy back alleys. The only clues that made Zabini deduce he was outside in Hogsmeade at last, was the cold night air, a few flakes of snow on his cheeks, and the distant harmonies of carol singers:

 _For unto us a child is born  
unto us a son is given..._

Zabini sniffed and his breath steamed as he said, "What about my wand?"

Hermione countered her blinding spell then pushed him gently ahead, saying, "I'm sure Dumbledore will have returned your wand to your mother by now – she's just a few hundred yards along the road. Enjoy your Christmas, Zabini."

Heart beating madly now, the youth snatched off his blindfold, blinking and squinting at the familiar figure silhouetted by festive lanterns in the distance. To one who only minutes before had been confined to a very lowly place indeed, emptied of hope and all good sensations, the sights and sounds shimmered and dazzled:

 _...the government shall be upon his shoulder...  
and his name shall be called Wonderful...  
...The Prince of Peace._

He whirled around, but Hermione was nowhere to be seen. For one moment only he puzzled... then he rushed away to his mother's arms; there were questions to be answered, and long-held beliefs to be re-examined.

.

Surprises

A large brown owl perched itself high in one of the sturdy ash trees that lined Grimmauld Place and blinked in confusion at the houses below. Rarely did she fail to find her precise destination but on those occasions when the bird knew she was close, the wise creature had learned to wait it out nearby. Sure enough, the first grey gloom of daylight revealed the pale hand of a little girl waving from a doorway opposite. The magical owl did not consider it at all strange that the house had appeared from nowhere, so without hesitation the bird swooped down to deliver her colourfully-wrapped package.

The holiday had brought the Grangers and Blacks together again with the youngest Black – Harry, of course – rather too close for comfort to the littlest Granger as he grinned mischievously over her shoulder in the hallway. "Ah, another mysterious delivery for Rosie! Amazing how your old Muggle School friend can reach you even when your mum's already right here!"

Hermione swatted him away with the packet, then they sat on the bottom step of the stairs while she unwrapped it to remove what lay within. For a few moments she held up what seemed to Harry much like a young child's spinning top made of glass, then she placed it down on the step between them where it stood motionless on its point.

After peering and puzzling at it for several seconds, Harry said, "What _is_ that?"

Though Hermione drew breath to answer, it was Sirius who answered him from where he was lounging in the parlour doorway, a paper streamer trailing twistedly from one ear. "That's a Pocket Sneakoscope, Harry, and really useful to alert its owner to the presence of enemies nearby." He straightened up and pulled away the strip of crepe, adopting a more serious tone as his attention turned to Hermione. "Which reminds me, young miss, I'd like you to come into the parlour for a little talk. ... Both of you."

The two youngsters glanced at each other then followed Sirius in to where Hestia and Anne were sat on the carpet around the litter of opened presents surrounding the Christmas tree. Elbow on the mantelpiece, Edward, who had been chatting to the womenfolk from beside the blazing hearth, fell silent and looked across.

After the kids had settled on the sofa, Sirius began. "Harry has been telling us about some of the goings-on at Hogwarts, Hermione, and the scrapes you and your friends have been getting into, but I'm sure we've not been told the half of it."

A slight smile played on Hestia's lips as she chided, "Sirius, don't forget, you Marauders earned a reputation of your own."

"Ahem... yes, well, we erm..." Sirius shifted his weight to another foot and drew out his wand. "With that in mind..." A small package flew to him from atop the sideboard, but it wasn't gift-wrapped. "This is an additional... a _special_ additional present I'd like you to have Hermione. I know how you've been watching out for our Harry, and he's agreed that... well, we'd like you to have it."

Harry was grinning ear to ear and wriggling with excitement beside Hermione who took the package and began slowly opening it...

There was a flash of bright movement from within. Hermione blinked. "Your two-way mirror? But don't you want it to keep in touch with Harry yourselves?"

Hestia wrung her hands as she replied, "It's a wrench but if Harry's in trouble we can't get to him quickly anyway. Listen, Hermione, you're a very sensible, knowledgeable young witch and Harry's best friend – ideally placed to give immediate assistance, advise him, and call for help if needed. We want Harry to be able to reach you at any time."

"I don't know what to say..." murmured Hermione.

Sirius said, "You don't need to say anything. We're forever in your debt. Harry told us Daggard took some of his belongings to try to control him, but somehow you got them back off her on the train and hid them? That's why she tied you up?"

Hermione hid her lie to the second question in a vague nodded mumble as she opened her bag. "Mmm... thanks for reminding me. Here's your cloak, Harry, oh, and a surprise: I asked Mrs Lovegood to clean and re-enamel your mum's miniature." Hermione began scrabbling deeper into her bag. "Pandora's brilliant with art and craft charms."

Hestia said, "Yes, she illustrated Xeno's _Hogwarts Herald_ newsletter project when they were at school. That's how they met."

"Really? I didn't know Mr Lovegood became interested in publishing news while he was so young," said Hermione, as she finally fished out the tiny empty painting.

Harry's smile of gratitude was tinged with sadness as he took the blank flattened ovoid and polished it against his sleeve. "Thanks, Hermione, I'll always treasure this as a memory of Mum."

"You'd better – because that's not the surprise," grinned Hermione. She took out James's portrait and handed it over.

"MUM!" croaked Harry, suddenly hoarse with astonishment.

Hestia's attention jerked towards Harry. There was an odd change in her expression as she realised it wasn't her that Harry was calling.

Both James and Lily were beaming from the one picture. Lily said, "I just had time to squeeze in with your dad while that awful hag was destroying my enamel. It's been... well, quite cosy, but we do need our own space from time to time, so..."

She moved over to the repaired blank and waved to Harry from it. "You have a wonderful friend there, Harry."

Harry's face lightened with the rising sun through the window and he turned to look at Hermione with increasing wonder. "I know, Mum... I know."

A great deal of happy, excited chatter filled the room at the reappearance of Lily Potter and Harry propped up both little portraits on the mantelshelf – "Now we can all share Christmas together!"

"So..." began Hestia, "is that enough excitement for one day or is everyone ready for _my_ big surprise?"

Harry's mouth opened wide and so did his eyes. "I'd almost forgotten! What is it, Mum?"

Hestia reached for Sirius's hand and smiled at everyone. "A kind of miracle has happened..." Her eyes shone and she looked at Hermione very strangely before turning back to Harry. "We're going to have–"

The front doorknocker rattled loudly and street sounds were heard as it opened. "Only me!" called a voice.

"Come in, Remus!" shouted Sirius.

A large plucked turkey clutched in an outstretched fist appeared in the doorway followed swiftly by the grinning face of Remus. "Am I early enough?"

"Uncle Remus!" cried Harry.

Hestia raised a hand in greeting. "Ah, you got it alright then? Thanks, Remus." She looked around. "Kreacher, would you...?"

The old elf staggered off with the plump bird towards the kitchen.

"Have a seat near the fire, Remus," said Sirius. "Warm yourself."

Harry fidgeted. "Mum? A turkey? We always have a turkey for Christmas!"

Hestia stared uncomprehendingly for a few moments then burst out laughing. "That's not the surprise, Harry!" she chuckled. She turned back to Remus. "Yes, you are early enough, Remus. I was about to make an announcement."

"Oh? Sounds good." Remus's eyebrows rose and the fireglow glistened in his eyes.

"What is it, Mum?" said Harry.

"Harry... everyone... we're going to have a baby."

Thinking he'd misheard, the boy looked bewildered. "A what?"

"You'll have a little brother or sister at Easter."

With an excited whirl towards Hermione, he blurted out, "Remember! I told you I wished on my magic for a brother or sister!"

Hermione frowned her puzzlement. "Ah... yes, I think I do recall..."

"When I thought you'd popped out of my photo! That I'd summoned you?"

"When was this?" said Sirius.

"Harry means when we were very little." Hermione eyed a warning at Harry. "He was sleepy and wishing on his family photo for a sister when I walked in and he became confused I was his new sister. We laughed about it after, didn't we, Harry?" She refrained from nudging him with her elbow.

"Erm... yeah, that's right. Like now, Mum, I was so astonished, I couldn't believe you for a few moments. But how? You said the Abraxan kicked you with its back hoof and you could never have children."

"How indeed?" Hestia gave Hermione a funny look before asking her, "Remember after the Triapetit, you said you... see things? Did you _see_ this might happen?"

"Well..."

Noticing Hermione's hesitation, Hestia continued, "Only... years ago, while working at St. Mungo's, I was called into the magical research department. For decades they'd been trying to create a spell to heal failed bodily organs – still do – but of course most organs such as the heart are life-critical so the patient is dead before they can experiment and learn. However, being barren, I was a perfect case for them to explore. They had no success of course, but I couldn't help but wonder..."

"...if I'd _seen_ them succeed one day?" Hermione gave a nervous smile. "I didn't want to raise your hopes, but yes, I foresaw a time when they realised the charm they were developing needed to be applied again and again over many weeks before it would be effective. That's why it's not much help with dying patients. I saw that enchantment so vividly that I knew it by heart, and used it on you many times over the summer without being sure if I could get it to work."

Sirius laughed heartily. "Oh, it worked alright! With a little help from me, of course."

"Sirius!" Hestia's cheeks seemed to pink a little as she turned away to gather up armfuls of wrapping paper from the floor, rustling them as noisily as she could. But when she looked again at Hermione, she was radiant. "Thank you, Hermione. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You cannot imagine how much... that is, I'd always..."

Sirius took over. "What Hestia should have said is she's bravely borne the lack of her own... motherly fulfilment, but I've always sensed her heartache inside. It means so much to my wife that I'd have gone to the ends of the Earth to ease her pain–"

Hestia moved to him. Held him. "Sirius..."

Hermione cradled and rocked an imaginary baby in her arms while grinning at Harry. Instinctively, he grinned back but turned thoughtful as he watched her cooing mischievously. A fright gripped him and he ran to his parents to clutch at Hestia's sleeve.

"Will the baby be your uuh...? I mean, I'll still be...? You'll still be _my_ mum as well, won't y–?" He slapped his forehead and made a wry smile. "T'uh – course you will!"

Hestia's astonishment turned to shining tears and she crouched swiftly down to embrace Harry. "Always..."

"Sorry, Mum – had brain freeze or something and panicked."

.

Just Desert

While the adults celebrated with a glass of wine and then Hestia and Anne drifted towards the kitchen to instruct Kreacher with some special preparation of the turkey, Harry sat with Hermione on the hearthrug to examine her Sneakoscope.

"So it'll warn us of danger and enemies?"

"Yes, but this one is toned down for Hogwarts so it won't sound an alarm from the little pranks and petulant behaviour that is going on all around. Most of the Slytherins in the same building would keep this whizzing and whistling almost continuously!"

A strange faraway look crept into Harry's eyes. "And did it... did one of these save us before – I mean in our other life?"

With a twist to her smile, Hermione said, "Well, no. Your Sneakoscope alerted us but we were already surrounded and–"

"What! Where were we?"

"Harry, it's best not to–"

"Where, though? Why couldn't you evaporate away and destroy them all?"

"I was only eighteen then and hadn't learnt that magic. We were living in a tent. Look, you ought not to–"

"Living in a tent! Just you and me?" Harry said excitedly, toning his voice down as he glanced quickly across the room toward Mr Granger who was admiring Sirius's new crystal decanter and advising him how to clean it with a soft cloth, much to the wizard's amusement.

"No, Ron was with us."

"Oh." Harry sounded slightly flat. "Hermione... were we... did we... did..." He stopped and seemed to gather himself up to say something that had been pressing to burst out of him for a while. "We were uumm... _family_ though, weren't we, Hermione? Later, I mean."

Hermione shook her head and looked sadly at her friend's earnest expression.

"We must have been!" Harry flushed. "I mean... I mean, I didn't mean... that is, I thought..."

The strength of his dejection was so evident that Hermione added, "I did regret it later, and I felt sure that you did too."

"Wh...?" formed silently on Harry's lips but his question never formed itself further. His head drooped a little.

"Look up, Harry," said Hermione.

He did so, searching her smile.

"No, higher." She pointed.

As he looked above them and saw the tangle of mistletoe suspended from the ceiling, she leaned forward to brush his upturned cheek with her lips. "That's for Christmas – and for being my best friend ever."

Harry grinned awkwardly, wondering how to respond. Hermione helped him, "I expect once you have a real sister you won't need me anymore, right, Harry?"

"No way, Hermione! You're more of a... you're more than a sister."

"More than a friend?"

He nodded dazedly as the dancing flames lit up his expression with a glow of longing.

"One day, Harry. One day we'll–" began Hermione, but was drowned out by a familiar sound – the rising pitch of the Sneakoscope's whine as it spun itself into a blaze of light. Harry felt Hermione's magic pushing him into the corner beside the fireplace while she threw herself onto her back, wand pointing upwards. Her next spell froze the bowl of sloppy custard that had been floating over them and slowly tipping.

Sirius howled with laughter. "Merlin's Bones, you _are_ fast! I _knew_ we were right to trust you with our mirror!"

Hestia squealed from the doorway. "Sirius! I told you to stir the darn thing up. The custard has to be set for teatime!"

"Sorry, Hest, I thought you said stir things up!" chortled Sirius.

The day went well and the holiday sped by after it, lightened by the anticipation that Hogwarts in the New Year would be free of the insufferable hag-guardian and perhaps, Hermione thought to herself, at last Harry could enjoy the stress-free schooldays he deserved.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Sorry for the long delay since the last chapter. I've half-written the next one too but it might take me a while to get back into my rhythm so I'm initially aiming for 3 to 4 week updates then see where I go from there. Oh, yeah, I've also started work on another short story but that won't be published for a while._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	45. 1:Bitten

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. Over Christmas 1991, Harry's hag bodyguard was imprisoned in Devil's Deep for trying to kill Draco, and Zabini was cleared. Harry's miniature portrait of Lily Potter was restored and he learns his adoptive mother, Hestia, is expecting a baby. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 45**

 **Bitten**

* * *

.

The House Debt

In the new year, after the youngsters had journeyed north to meet the winter night, they found Hogwarts smoothly cloaked in snow, glistening like sugar crystals in the flickering torch lights around the castle. The mysterious lake, normally blackened by its peaty sediments, now presented only a pale sheet of ice over which a mist, faint and seemingly lost, gently drifted.

Neville, who had stayed at Hogwarts through Christmas, greeted them cheerily enough amongst the crowds in the Entrance Hall, bombarding everyone with questions about their holidays. Ron, who once again had almost missed the train after a last-minute return from France, handed the bewildered boy a secondhand copy of _Herbes Mystérieuses Illustrées_ (hastily-wrapped in what appeared to be previously-used gift paper) saying it was mostly pictures anyway so he could work out the language. Most surprisingly, Daphne Greengrass also thrust a book-shaped package – this one into Hermione's hands – and, with an averted and possibly-embarrassed glare, swept back into the rivulet of Slytherins heading for the opening feast.

"What is it, Hermione?" frowned Harry.

"Don't open it!" was Ron's immediate remark. "It's probably cursed."

Puzzled, and with a sombre expression, Hermione slipped it into her beaded bag. "I'll check it later, but I doubt she'd openly give me a cursed object... would she?"

But the lull in their chatter was soon lifted by the mood in the still-festively-decorated Great Hall, bright and warm with a new term full of promise. Potential dark dangers were soon forgotten. Harry pointed out that Draco Malfoy was still absent. Ron mouthed something like " _The less of 'em the merrier."_ through the first mouthful of English food he'd eaten in a while. The greatest excitement was clustered around the return of Blaise Zabini who was being congratulated from all sides of the Slytherin table.

So plentiful were the many fresh exchanges and observations that Hermione quite forgot her belated Christmas present until, up in the girls' dorm and after Lavender, Sally-Anne, Parvati, and Fay had all bid her goodnight and appeared to be drowsily settled – if not yet asleep – she silently scanned Daphne's package for dark magic.

Nothing. The gift, whatever it might turn out to be, was not triggering any response in her wand. As an extra precaution, she took out her Sneakoscope and placed it on the bed beside her before opening the slim parcel.

Within was a thin, dark-red leather presentation case, about the size of a modest foolscap atlas. The Sneakoscope remained silent. To be certain, she backed off along her bed then opened the single brass catch with the tips of her fingers and with the case pointing away from her.

Nothing. No nasty surprises leapt at her helpless pillow.

As she slowly turned the case upon her eiderdown, shiny metal flashed from within. An assassin's dagger?

The display interior boasted the Zabini house crest in gold with a magnificent curved knife of polished metal mounted below it. The weapon reminded Hermione of a Bowie type with its broad blade and wickedly-hooked point. The addition of saw teeth on the back edge completed the implement as an all-round survival tool that was large enough to hack, fine enough to winkle, and formidable enough to threaten most foes.

A cream parchment, neatly folded in four, had lain pinched within the flat surfaces, and Hermione opened it to softly murmur the red-inked script:

 _The House of Zabini  
offer their gratitude,  
and will remember..._

This was not a noble house debt _paid_ , but a token of one _due_ – that much Hermione recognised – yet it named no recipient. Was it aimed at House Potter? Or to the Granger Muggles? A weapon definitely symbolised a willingness to defend and not merely monies owed. Many were the traditions of the ancient magical houses, and Hermione screwed up her forehead in concentration trying to remember what was relevant. A sign such as this would always indicate the beneficiary – unless there were no such magical house! Rarely indeed did a Pure-Blood line acknowledge a debt to a non-magical family, but then the Zabinis did acknowledge Muggles as respectable inferiors even while they regarded Magicals as so much more; the Greengrasses held a similar view, she recalled.

But what of their assumed debt to the Potter family line? Had Zabini passed a similar gift to Harry? No, he would have said so. Perhaps this was another indication of their indirectness, to convey an implicit debt without direct connection? The Zabinis had always presented a neutral facade while occasionally taking sides behind the scenes.

Hermione sighed, put away the more-than-ceremonial knife into her beaded bag, and sank back onto her pillow, tucking her legs under the bedclothes and pulling the covering up to her chin. One day, Blaise would inherit his place on the Wizengamot, and this indebtedness might then prove most useful; she'd have to discuss it with Jop Gair one day. For now, she let tiredness take over and drifted off into a pleasant sleep.

.

The Achilles Heel

The first week back at Hogwarts passed peacefully with no dramatic or alarming incidents. Harry had now joined Hermione's Potions class and was elated by the friendly, creative atmosphere in which they worked. Neville was chirpy. Ron's studies continued to thrive through the use of his Tutomee.

The first Crest meeting took place with Harry now finally the clear leader. Hermione found time to contact the Cathesis League by owl, and particularly Jop Gair, to whom she conveyed she had the potential favour of the Zabini vote should they need it, and perhaps, when most needed, he should cautiously sound out the matriarch of that family while mentioning the name 'Granger'.

In the second week, Fred and George Weasley exulted to Ron that the Slytherin Quidditch team had lost one of their Chasers. Apparently they'd witnessed Adrian Pucey being carried to the Hospital Wing after being bitten on the ankle by a Mandrake.

"But re-potting Mandrakes is second-year," protested Hermione when she overhead Ron telling Harry at lunch on the Wednesday.

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. Fred said they were munching the seed trays in the lower dungeon or something."

"Mulching." Hermione rolled her eyes. "And seeds don't bite."

"I dunno. Ask 'em."

Hermione thought for a while as she finished her cucumber sandwich and washed it down with apple juice. "Probably a leftover from the previous season," she mused to herself.

"Yeah, that's what old Sprout said."

"Thanks, Ron," grumbled Hermione, reaching for another sandwich, "for forgetting to mention that."

"Yeah, septic. They're down a Chaser is the main thing." He dropped his well-gnawed chicken wing back on its plate then rubbed his greasy hands together gleefully.

Harry grinned at Hermione. She frowned at Ron. "The wound's infected?"

Neville said, to anyone listening, "Is it Charms test first lesson this afternoon? Not sure I quite finished revising."

"No excuse," said Hermione. "You must have had loads of time over Christmas here on your own. Did Seamus stop too?"

"No, but Christmas dinner was good. There were only about a dozen or so of us, even including some of the teachers. Harry, can I borrow your Charms notes for a few minutes?"

Harry, who was contemplating several puddings, reached down to his bag. "Here, knock yourself out."

.

No Stingers Please

The coldest weather struck at the beginning of February.

"I swear there's frost on the walls outside our common room," complained Ernie, as the Crest members assembled in Room 4J. "Hannah slipped over and banged her elbow so she might be a bit late."

"Don't exaggerate. It's not that cold down there," smirked Susan. "Hannah just tripped over an upturned floor slab."

Ernie went over and poked the fire for a bit, faking a few shudders and grumbling that the stonework outside the Hufflepuff common room had always been fine.

Harry walked over to the alcove, opened up the Room of Requirement, then surveyed the faces behind him. "Do you think she'll be long, Susan? Shall we start our training or wait for her?"

There was a chorus of impatient noises. Susan said, "She won't mind joining in a bit later."

But the practice session was half over before Hannah showed, nursing her left arm. "It's nothing – just a little sore." She shrugged dismissively, after she was overly-showered with concern from her friends. "That Slytherin was raving feverish though. Reckons he was bitten by a gremlin."

"It was just a Mandrake," said Ron. "Come on, Hann, join our team – we're a man down and they're using Stingers." He gestured disparagingly at Padma's team.

"No Stingers on my bad arm then," said Hannah, pulling out her wand.

Padma sniggered. "So now it _is_ a bad arm, eh? Okay no Stingers on my nose because I scratched it."

Ron guffawed. "And none on my foot – I've got a bruise on my toe."

"Hey! What about my paper cut!" laughed Hermione, getting into the spirit of the banter. "Reading can be a dangerous occupation."

With Daggard gone and Harry free, the atmosphere was light. Things were looking up for the Crestors.

.

The Black Hole

As the school term progressed, Professor Quirrell introduced the first of his non-theoretical Defence lessons. He began with protection against physical attack.

"As we have discussed, if an assailant threatens you with a curse from a distance then, as youngsters, your best hope is a combination of dodging and running. However, if the enemy closes in or even seizes you or a friend then you should act quickly to separate them from the danger."

He moved into the space he had separated between the desks before continuing, "For this we use a simple but effective spell called the Revulsion Jinx which will force apart virtually any human or creature from its victim, and can even break chains and shackles if your magic is powerful enough."

He flicked his wand. "Relashio!" Fiery purple sparks shot across the classroom. Ron, who had been leaning over to closely whisper in Neville's ear that Eloise Midgen's acne was her very own Revulsion Jinx, found himself flung sideways onto the floor.

"Ah! A volunteer who already knows the spell and doesn't feel the need to listen! Thank you, Weasley," said Quirrell. There were sniggers all round, especially from the Slytherins on the left.

"Now, would anyone like to attack Weasley? Twist his arm? Grab him round the throat? Throttle him? That sort of thing?"

Almost everyone's hand shot up as Ron rose to his feet and dusted himself off.

"Mmm... what it is to be popular, eh, Weasley?" smiled Quirrell. "Well... size makes no difference to this spell... Crabbe, how about you? Yes, come forward. See if you can pull Weasley to the ground."

Ron was tall for his age but Crabbe was built like a gorilla – with a brain to match – and the red-haired youth eyed him warily, drawing out his wand as he took a defensive stance.

Quirrell said, "Remember the wand movement? And the invocation, 'Relashio', Weasley?"

Ron nodded. "Yes sir. Think so, sir."

Crabbe charged like a bull as Ron instinctively braced himself, but the Slytherin never even made contact. Ron's wand thrust forward with his rapidly-barked incantation, and the over-large youth appeared to bounce backwards off it, banging the back of his head as he hit the floor heavily midst a shower of purple flashes.

There were several moments of astonishment both from the students and Quirrell himself before he smiled warmly. "Excellent! Five points to Gryffindor, Mr Weasley. It appears you _were_ paying attention after all." But a puzzled frown creased his brow before he continued, "Very well, everyone into the centre and form pairs. I'll show you the spell once more."

Thirty minutes was needed for most of the class to begin to even weakly produce the spell – the exceptions being Ron, Harry, Neville, Dean, and Hermione. Understanding dawned in Quirrell's expression and he asked the students to resume their seats. "Mr Potter, I've heard that you run a self-help study group for Gryffindors?"

"Not just Gryffindors, sir, trusted friends from any house."

"And the group practise Defence spells?"

"We help each other with all the subjects we're taught at Hogwarts, Professor, and some we're not."

"Well done for your initiative, Potter."

"It's not just me, Herm–" spluttered Harry, but Hermione tugged at the sleeve of his robe.

"You lead the group though, Potter?"

"Uuh... yes, sir."

"Very good. Feel free to consult with me on Defence matters."

Harry felt Hermione's elbow gently nudging his ribs. "Erm... thank you, Professor."

"For homework, I want you all to read Section 7 of your handbook and pay particular attention to the description of the many situations in which the Revulsion Jinx might be used. I want twenty inches of parchment paraphrasing the information by next week. Any questions? Anything at all?"

Hermione raised her hand. What prompted her to commence a reckless inquiry she would never know, but the girl was finding it increasingly difficult to believe Quirrell was anything but genuine. If he had turned dark, why would he be now encouraging defence against his own interests? "Professor, could you tell us something about your recent journeys? Did you discover any organised dark forces?"

Professor Quirrell paused. "I'm not sure that my travel experiences are suitable material for a first-year class, Miss Granger."

"But were there even any signs of the Black Arc for instance?"

Quirrell frowned, then sighed. "I suppose you should be told. I found no evidence whatsoever of any such group but–"

There was a collective sigh of relief, mainly from the Gryffindors, and a lot of murmuring amongst the Slytherins.

"But..." persisted Quirrell, "that fact in itself is an astonishing sign."

Harry raised his hand. "Why's that, Professor?"

"Because it is known such an organisation carried out random attacks in the recent past, mostly against Muggles, and their sign of a dark rainbow has been seen more than once. How then could my very thorough investigations discover only silence where normally there are whispers, and denials where rumours usually thrive?"

Hermione frowned. "You think they've somehow made the gossips and story-spreaders forgetful of them?"

"Exactly. And inadvertently created an empty space where one should not be."

Harry took a deep breath. "So they're planning something big?"

"No, Mr Potter, I think they are waiting for something – something or... someone."

.

Sneaking

At the evening meal, Harry, Ron, and Hermione discussed Quirrell's remarks.

"Maybe it's a good thing," said Ron. "I mean, if the Black Arc have gone into hiding then nobody need worry about them for now – perhaps forever."

"But, Ron, we don't know what they're plotting," said Harry.

"Or waiting for," added Hermione. "You heard Professor Quirrell."

"Not our concern," said Ron, offhandedly. "We're just kids learning to defend ourselves if trouble comes our way; we're not vigilantes out to save the world."

Hermione stifled a wince and took another spoonful of sponge pudding which she tried to steady in her hand. She knew as a Cathesis founder that she was exactly that: a vigilante, but as a member of Crest, her fervent wish was to protect those she had lost in her former life – all of them: Harry, Ron... She looked around. "Where's Neville?"

"Finishing off his Transfiguration homework in the reading room, I think," said Harry. "Said he'd get sandwiches from the kitchen."

A suspicion began to gnaw in the back of Hermione's mind. Pushing away the remains of her dessert, she stared upwards, waiting impatiently for the others to finish. The bewitched ceiling displayed an almost cloudless, starry sky, indicating an even harder frost overnight. Her puzzled frown had evolved into an annoyed expression by the time Ron had wolfed his last cupcake and they made their way back to the common room.

"So where is he?" said Hermione as they passed the empty reading room.

Harry shrugged. "Perhaps he meant one of the other reading rooms."

One glance around the near-empty common room and Hermione stalked up to the boys' dorm. Harry and Ron exchanged glances and followed her.

"What's got into you, Hermione?" said Ron, then added as an afterthought, "You know, sometimes you act just like a mother hen."

Harry grinned and made a few clucking noises as he sat on his bed. Hermione huffed at him and stomped off downstairs.

"You know, I reckon she's serious," said Ron. "It's all this Black Arc talk – she thinks Neville's been kidnapped for ransom or something."

But abduction was not on Hermione's mind at all – though rescue was. She searched a few other reading rooms and finally the library where she remained distractedly writing out her own Charms homework until almost curfew when Madam Pince turfed everyone out.

When Neville sneaked carefully back to the darkened common room later that night, he was surprised to see a steady fire still glowing in the hearth – a fresh log or two upon it. He paused on stockinged feet. No one was about. He tiptoed towards the boys' stairs...

"You've been seeing her again, haven't you? The girl in the painting?"

Neville dropped one of his shoes in surprise and winced as it bounced off his toe. "Who's there?"

"How many people could it be? And Daggard's not here for sure."

"Hermione?"

Her half-silhouetted, half-glowing face peered around the edge of one of the high-backed chairs gathered around the fireplace. Sparks crackled as she snapped, "I thought we had an understanding?"

"But... but I never..." spluttered Neville, then, in a raised whisper, "Anyway, it was _you_ that asked me to speak to her again!"

For a moment, Hermione was flummoxed as she tried to remember what she'd said. "Uumm... that's right, I did, didn't I?" Then she recovered. "But that was only to confirm you'd never really kissed her!"

Hermione stood up and came around from her chair to face him. "Neville, this _has_ to stop." She shook her head. "Or what will become of you?"

Neville stood dumbfounded for several seconds. Pressure seemed to be building. "It's none of your business what I do!"

"Look, if you don't stop, I'll–"

"Do what? There's nothing you can do to stop me so keep out of my life!" He spun on his heels rather awkwardly in his socks then stumbled off again towards the dorm stairs.

Hermione stared after him – then at his shoe lying on the floor; colour on the edge of one sole suggested paint. She had one recourse... but she dreaded the thought.

.

The Fear Of Being Hated

For the rest of the week, Hermione stewed over Neville's problem, battling with herself over what she felt she must do. The boy had been somewhat cold towards her and any action could only make their relationship worse. And seeing Zabini using his memory journal at mealtimes kept nagging her that she still did not know for sure why Daggard had attacked Draco.

Harry sensed her preoccupation at breakfast on the Saturday morning. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

Ron and Neville were discussing Hufflepuff's prospects in their coming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw and not particularly paying her any attention. Crest would be meeting later in the morning but Hermione wasn't necessarily needed. She came to a decision, two decisions actually. "Harry, I need to do some things, go places. Will you cover for me?"

Seeing her worried expression, Harry hesitated for a while, then nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll say you've been up in that reading room at the far end where nobody ever goes. I'll go there myself to make sure. How long will you be?"

"Only a couple of hours or so... probably not that long."

"Is it... bad?"

"Harry, if I had to do something... you wouldn't hate me, would you?"

An eyebrow lifted. "Never! You know that."

But as Hermione slipped away, he began to fret. What could his best friend possibly do that she'd think he might hate her?

.

The Dying Mind

Painfully, Hermione stood before her head of house, betraying Neville's obsession only that she might ultimately help him – that did not ease her conscience. At least she toned down his curious fixation:

"So, effectively, it's like he's substituting for not having a really close friend," she finished.

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "This won't do at all."

"Please don't tell anyone, Professor," pleaded Hermione. "Not the Headmaster, not his parents – he'll suffer enough."

McGonagall's lips pinched whitely. "I'll see to it all first, have it removed, then have a quiet word with Longbottom. You say you've already explained to him that there can be no true relationship with a magical half-life form? That's it's not truly sentient?"

Hermione nodded. "That's his problem. He knows she's not truly alive when he stops to think about it, yet feels she represents someone real to his... to his heart, I suppose."

McGonagall sighed. "Leave it to me. Neither part of this will be easy for any of us."

Hermione hurried away, hoping distance would cut her off from the guilt she felt within – in vain. She turned her mind to the other task of the morning, and made her way outside.

There was very little snow left on the outer walls of Hogwarts as Hermione glided invisibly through the stone. Once free of the wards, she braced herself for the long Apparition to the little German village where stood the bell tower. Ice had not reached this far south at all this winter but the sky was as grim as her heart. She stood breathing in the fresh morning air, gazing out over the scenery as she prepared for the second leg of her journey, and pondering how she might persuade Daggard to explain why she'd tried to murder Draco.

After a while she took a deep breath and continued on her way to Devil's Deep.

Cautious as ever, Hermione remained unseeable and immaterial on her arrival in the cavern which imprisoned the half-hag. Listening, she heard nothing; watching, she saw no one. Silently she moved forward.

A huddled figure lay near, but not upon, the bed provided. Even through the torn robes, Hermione could tell the body was contorted, the arms extended, the hands still clawing weakly at the air. But it was the terror in the crone's facial expression that startled Hermione the most. The eyes were open, barely flickering, staring straight through the invisible Hermione to an unknown horror.

Though still virtually untouchable, instinct cause Hermione to spin around, searching... Swiftly she flew high around the copious spaces of the cave, afraid to remain on the ground. In vain she searched, until, her magic depleting, she had to rest from her protective spells, and descend to reveal herself.

Daggard saw her now, but whether the half-hag recognised Hermione or not, she could not tell for there was only madness to be seen in her gaze. " _Please..._ " The voice was no more than a faintly-whimpered prayer.

The tiny bite wounds upon the protruding flesh looked to be cursed or infected. "Who or what did this to you?" Hermione had to be sure. If the crone had successfully summoned a demon it must have presumably turned on the hag-witch – but had it then returned whence it came?

" _Please..._ "

Hermione shook her head. _Does she think that begging for death will ease her suffering?_ A pact with evil can have only one end. "Why? Why'd you try to kill Draco?" She wanted to know but expected no sane answer from the stricken hag.

A long groan was the only response.

Hermione turned away. A new fear began to grip her. To enter a broken mind risked her own sanity. At best it would be a horror show. The little girl stood alone in the great cave summoning up all her courage, drawing on her elderly experience, trying to cushion herself with the sensation of her former mature self. She took the plunge.

Suffering beyond suffering! A shoreless ocean of misery! Waves of vivid torments washed over her. Deeper! Deeper! Back! Back! Back to Daggard's memories of Draco. But there was only confusion. _both must drink from the same chalice... a suspicious connection... Harry Black..._ And then finally:

 _Darkness comes. The beast shall be its only sign. On a high place, the cursed shall be set against..._

Hermione screamed. She ran and screamed again before leaning forward against a cold, uncaring wall, breathless until she recovered. Had Daggard overheard part of the new prophecy from the Divination teacher when the hag was with Harry that time? Or had the crone invaded Draco's mind to retrieve his memory? She suspected the latter because it ended with Draco flung away into space when Daggard was compelled to...

 _Daggard intervened!_ Hermione realised. The half-hag had not merely attempted to murder Draco and frame Zabini for the crime, but she had also prevented the completion of whatever ritual was taking place that night in the Astronomy Tower! _But why? To protect Zabini? Hardly likely._

With a shiver, Hermione walked slowly back to Daggard, cleansing the cold sweat from herself as she did so. She was composed now, knowing she needn't repeat the Legilimens, because Daggard's mind had died while the young girl had been still within its labyrinth of terror. She blew out air and stared down at the corpse. What to do?

Certainly, Barty and Vera ought to be told, after all, the three of them together had tried and convicted the hag, and were the only ones who knew Daggard had tried to summon a demon. It took her quite a while before she could lift her spirits enough to despatch Patronuses explaining the situation then, after thinking of Crouch at the Ministry, she came to a decision about the body. A faint whisper startled Hermione from her contemplations:

" _Can you come back quick! He's stormed off to that reading room! The one where you're supposed to be!"_

"Harry?" She fumbled for her two-way mirror. "Who?"

" _Neville! He's in a right fury! McGonagall upset him and now he's after you! Me an' Ron'll try to stall him..."_

Hermione vanished with a sigh.

.

Unforgiven

Hogwarts' stones yielded once more to Hermione and, reassuring herself that no one else had yet entered the little reading chamber, she solidified, became visible, took a book – any book – off the nearest shelf, opened it and pretended to read: _... this hex might even divert a charging bull mammoth but it is not recommended that..._

"How appropriate," she murmured to herself as the door was flung open with a crash.

"How could you!" bellowed Neville. "Who made you boss over my life! You snitched on me and now McGonagall's vanished Etherea..." Deflating suddenly, he sank down onto the nearest chair, gasping with sobs. "Forever..."

Seeing Ron and Harry approaching along the corridor, she signalled them to stay outside then silently closed the door with a gesture.

"She can't have done it already, surely? She can't just vanish a character from a painting. An expert would need to be called in to paint over her."

"No, she said she'd van– besides, there was no smell of fresh paint."

"You've been up there again?"

"I had to see her! I had to say... I didn't even have the chance to say goodbye. The painting was empty. Just an empty room."

"Oh, Neville, I'm sorry."

She noticed there was still a trace of colour on the edge of his shoe. Neville must have seen where she was looking, saw the odd look in her eye, for he snapped, "That's ink. It's a forgotten storeroom – really old paper and stuff. That's all it is now because of you."

He flung his arms out on the table before him and buried his face there, weeping. "I hate you."

Hermione winced with shame. The older maternal instinct in her longed to comfort him but knew she'd only make matters worse. There was no remorse, no turning back time to undo her actions; what'd been done had been for the best. "I hate myself too."

He looked up. "Then why did you? How could you do that to... I thought we were friends."

"We are. That's what friends do: look out for each other, help guide each other when we're going the wrong way."

"Your just a bossy, interfering... bullying coward!"

"Coward, Mr Longbottom?" He jerked around in his chair, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Professor McGonagall had silently entered. "I would not say so. Courage is obvious when facing our enemies, but it takes a special kind of bravery to help our friends when they do not recognise the need." There was a faint smile. "Don't let this loss ruin your life, young man. Now it is you who must be brave, brave enough to forgive and move on."

Neville stared at the older woman before saying sadly, "I can't. I was so happy, and now... now there's nothing. I can't forgive." He stood up and they watched him slowly walk out.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Just to repeat what I've said in some earlier notes, probably at the start, I only commit to each Book in this story. What that means is I make a serious effort to complete each book and I've never failed to finish a story yet. I also aim to make each book have a reasonable ending so enjoyable in its own completeness as it were. However, though I hope to finish eight books, I'd be crazy to promise as it will take years and who knows what tomorrow will bring? Anyway, currently I'm getting to fortnightly updates and hope to improve on that if I can get ahead (I have half the next chapter done already but I prefer to be two or three chapters ahead as a buffer.) I've got the essentials of this book in my head and in notes so I know what I have to do. Thank you for your patience. I know how horrible it is when a story one is reading gets abandoned, so I'll never do that frivolously._ :)

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	46. 1:Dark Ascension

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, she formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After Christmas 1991, Hermione found Steff Daggard (Harry's ex-bodyguard) dying in Devil's Deep, a victim of the demon she, herself, had summoned. And Neville's portrait friend was finally removed by McGonagall – leaving him very bitter. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 46**

 **Dark Ascension**

* * *

.

The Gremlin

A week passed during which the snow departed from Hogwarts Castle, yet Neville still remained rather icy towards Hermione. He wasn't avoiding her utterly but tended to speak mostly to Harry and Ron in their little foursome, and then with a rather mournful expression and tone. He also dragged along behind them, lost in his own thoughts, as they made their way to lessons and meals.

"Merlin's bony corset!" Ron forgot the spoonful of breakfast cereal in his right hand as his left swept over the headline on the Daily Prophet which an owl had just delivered. "They got the hag!"

"Daggard?" Harry blinked and opened his mouth again while he leaned over to stare at the paper, wondering if he'd heard right. "I hope they cursed her good. Did she put up a fight?"

Hermione was looking across at the Slytherin table but it didn't appear that Zabini – or anyone there – had yet seen the newspaper.

"Not really," said Ron, trying to read and speak and eat all at the same time. Reluctantly, he put down his spoon. "She was dead when they found her. ... Portsmouth docks. ... Probably trying to escape to the continent. ... Rats had a go at the body they reckon." He grimaced, "Bit her all over ... but not her ugly mug by the looks of the photo. Even rats couldn't stomach that face." He pushed the Prophet over to Harry to finish reading.

Hermione, trying to hide her relief that the body had been so promptly found where she'd left it, said, "Well, at least the Aurors won't have to waste any more time searching for her." _Nor Madame Zabini,_ she thought to herself. The formidable widow had quite a reputation for disposing of her several rich husbands, though nobody knew for sure. Likely she would have begun inquiries to avenge her son. Hermione leaned over and noticed a smaller article headed:

 _INGLETON PROMOTED_

Squinting at the tiny print, she found he'd been elevated to a more senior post within the Magical Law Enforcement Department. She nodded to herself with approval. Jop Gair and probably Barty Crouch had no doubt helped get Paul further up the ladder where he belonged. "Can I borrow the diary for a few minutes?"

Ron, who was just about to bite into a sausage sandwich, rolled his eyes then kicked his bag over to her before completing his munch. Hermione fished out the journal and began scribbling away, sure that Luna would be pleased to hear of Paul's advancement.

Amidst the general hubbub of the Great Hall, she heard a faint startled cry from the Slytherin table. Blaise Zabini had finally been shown a copy of the morning's newspaper, and his grimly-satisfied expression was quite evident.

The incident was soon forgotten as lessons began for the day. That morning, as the four headed up the back stairs shortcut to their History class, Ron and Harry were slightly in front, heads together, chatting. Neville, finding himself walking uncomfortably beside Hermione slowed back a pace, but this only resulted in Hermione politely slowing down to keep with him.

"Uuh... forgot my Tutomee," muttered Neville, turning to head for the Gryffindor Tower.

"Take mine," said Hermione, pulling it out of her bag and handing it over. As Neville turned back, his face showed surprise, but he was looking past her, up the stair. A few steps above, Ron was drawing his wand.

" _Harry... Potter..."_ hissed a high, cold voice.

"Relashio!" roared Ron, and Harry was flung sideways where he stumbled back into Hermione who was already rushing upwards.

"That ruddy Mandrake!" shouted Ron, pointing. "Tried to bite Harry."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "A Mandrake couldn't have got up here from the lower dungeon, Ron!" Her gaze swerved back and forth. "Where'd it go to?"

"That was no Mandrake," said Neville solemnly, as he joined them. "It was reddish – eyes as well."

"You saw it too, Neville?"

He nodded. "More like a gremlin in a children's book or..."

Harry muttered from between gritted teeth, "That's what Pucey said. He told Hannah it was a gremlin – and he's still in the hospital wing."

"He's not, you know," said Hermione. "They sent him to St. Mungo's two days ago."

Ron pulled a face. "Luna says there's no proof that gremlins exist at all."

"Who?" said Neville.

"My sister's friend – you never met her. They live mostly in France now," said Ron. "She's a bit uumm... unusual."

Hermione groaned with both amusement and exasperation. "Oh, right, gremlins must be real then if there's no proof is what Luna means." She opened a door but it turned out to be an almost empty cupboard. "Which way did it go, did you say?" She looked up and down the shelves and in the corners.

"Through that wall beside the door – well, it wriggled half through the wall and the floor."

"T'uh! It couldn't have Ron! Good shot by the way. You probably saved Harry from a cursed bite if Pucey's state is anything to go by."

"I tell you it did bore through! Didn't it Harry?"

"Erm... I was too busy being knocked down the stairs by your Revulsion jinx, mate." He went dramatically through the motions of dusting off his robes with his hands. "Thanks, though – seriously, thanks."

"Yes, I saw it go through as well," said Neville.

"Thank you, Nev." Ron smirked at Hermione's puzzlement. "It squirmed through the stone like you do," said Ron.

"I do NOT squirm, Ronald; I glide gracefully."

"Oh, pardon me, your _duchessness."_

Hermione finished examining every crevice in the cupboard and shut the door. Then she peered under the stone bench against the opposite wall of the corridor but found nothing. "The thing is, what are we going to do?"

"Tell Sprout for starters," said Harry.

"It wasn't any kind of magical plant," insisted Neville with a shake of his head.

"Okay, Hagrid or McGonagall then," said Harry. "Who's coming with me?"

"It should be Neville," said Hermione, looking at the boy with approval, though he cringed somewhat. "If he says it isn't a Mandrake then it isn't, so you can be more assertive – right, Neville? Oh, and, Harry, have you got your multi-diary with you?"

Harry pointed at Ron. "He's got it as usual. Ginny always keeps in touch. They still miss us, you know."

"Ron, can you ask Luna to tell us everything she knows about gremlins – what they look like and so on."

"Seriously?" Ron's eyebrows rose, and so did the corners of his mouth. "You want me to ask Luna about an imaginary creature?"

"Or you could search the library...?" Hermione's eyes twinkled.

"I think I should ask Luna," said Ron, grabbing the diary from Harry's outstretched hand. "She's the expert on non-existent beasts, after all."

.

Evil Rising

Hermione's hope to promote Neville's confidence backfired.

"McGonagall didn't believe me," he muttered when they next had a chance to talk properly just before lunch. "She pulled that funny frown-smile face and said she'd look into it, but then went off in the direction of the greenhouses. She thinks I'm a pathetic, useless prat without the sense or courage to–"

"If she thought that then she'd be wrong!" stormed Hermione. "I KNOW what you are, Neville. Believe me and believe in your own worth." Determined to prove Neville's excellence to himself she said, "We must go back up and find evidence on our own. We've at least half an hour before we need to go to the Great Hall."

Despite Hermione's encouragement, Neville, head-down, lingered behind the other three as they walked back – he still in deep depression over his loss. As they climbed the stairs where they'd seen the creature, Harry glanced back at Neville and murmured, "Nev's getting worse. What's up with him, Hermione? Is he scared? I can't believe he's not brave enough for this tiddly gremlin."

She took a breath but at the top of the steps, Ron held up his hand. "Listen..."

They could hear a scratching sound.

"Bet you it's Luna," said Harry.

Ron sat down on the stone bench and the others clustered around him as he pulled out the diary. There was time to study not just Luna's vivid and flowery descriptions of the many types of gremlin she suspected lurked mischievously in dark corners, but also the several animated drawings she was still sketching from afar. Even Neville was drawn out of curiosity to inspect these malevolent creatures as they crept about, weakening chair legs and bending sprockets inside clocks.

Ron laughed after getting over his initial astonishment. "That one's pulling out twigs from the back of someone's broom! A regular Peeves."

Neville's finger stabbed at one in the middle. "That's the most similar." Haltingly, he read out Luna's words, " _The Macedonian Limpet is obsessively demonic in the way it loosens carriage wheels travelling along on bumpy, cobbled roads. By hanging under the coach's chassis using rubber suckers soaked in whale oil, the Macedonian uses a deviously-curved screwdriver that can poke between moving spokes to loosen the buckle pins."_

Ron sniggered and set Harry laughing too.

"What did you say? About it being obsessive?" said Hermione.

" _obsessively demonic"_

Hermione's blood ran cold. "That voice... I'd almost forgotten. Ron, I thought you whispered Harry's name – just before you pushed him out of harm's way..."

"No, I was too busy aiming my wand."

Hermione muttered, "Oh, dear God! It was _him!"_

"Him, who?" said Harry.

"Voldemort!" She stared at the others and they stared back. "Harry, you must never be alone. The danger is far greater than anyone knows. Never travel by yourself."

"You can't be serious, Hermione," said Ron, "Harry finished off You-know-who ten years ago!"

"Exactly. It's dead. It cannot be killed. Hardly any spells work except indirectly. We have to warn Dumbledore – but how? What on Earth can I tell him?"

Neville said, "You mean a demon? It can't be! What I saw was tiny."

"It's forming. It's new. Voldemort died only ten years ago – that's recent in terms of everlasting hell. We have to stop it before it gains strength or it will be as unstoppable as one of the ancient demons."

Ron snorted. "Hermione, have you gone mental? It's–"

"What's going on here?" Quirrell was calling up as he ascended the stairs. "Why aren't you at lunch?"

"We saw it!" cried Harry, "that–"

"Mandrake!" shrieked Hermione, banging her elbow against Harry's arm to shut him up. She was still unsure about Quirrell, and the idea of him becoming enamoured with a demonic Voldemort was unthinkable. "That thing which bit Pucey tried to bite Harry!" she continued in a frightened wail. "Maybe it's cursed."

Quirrell hurried the rest of the way up the steps with his wand drawn. His head jerked around worriedly as he searched for the creature.

Hermione cried, "It scurried off along the corridor. We should tell the Headmaster."

The other three stared at Hermione but had the sense to keep their mouths shut.

"I'll speak to him at once," said Quirrell. He sounded extremely concerned. "Meanwhile keep well away from this area, it's certainly dangerous." He paused. "Professor Dumbledore is to make an announcement at lunch. You should know that Pucey..." He tailed off, searching for the right words to tell eleven-year-olds.

Hermione gasped. "He can't be dead, surely?"

Quirrell bit his lip grimly. "He lost the lower part of his leg. Everything below the knee was terribly cursed and they couldn't save it. The Ministry is getting concerned. Even Mr Fudge has had strong words with the Headmaster. He's demanding results. They're sending someone over from the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures."

Her eyes widened. "Not...?" She couldn't face seeing Walden Macnair again without wanting him to die painfully – not Luna's and Charlie's butcher – not here at Hogwarts. "You mean the... _executioner?"_ She immediately wished she'd not said the word.

Quirrell raised an eyebrow. "Not immediately. But he may be required if the head of that department decides. Come away down now, children, and find another way." He conjured a large warning sign to block the corridor then walked along it to seal off the other end.

As the kids descended, Hermione got in first to circumvent the others' questions. "There's no way I can explain how I know it's Voldemort in demonic form! Back me up in this, please. We'll–"

She grabbed the diary from Ron and with her wand made a copy of the page containing Luna's drawing of the gremlin most-closely resembling what Ron and Neville had seen. The duplicate was no longer magically animated but Hermione saw that as an advantage. "Neville, _you_ drew this, right?" She thrust it at him.

He took it but his mouth gaped at her claim.

She countered, "You draw wonderful sketches of magical plants – leafery and suchlike! Uumm... I mean, you will, that is... you can, if you try – so why not this?" When he still did not speak she persisted, "Look, no one's going to question who drew the bloody thing, are they!"

Ron spluttered, "Hermione! Language, please!"

"And, Harry, I'm sleeping with you tonight," she added forcefully.

All three boys gawped at her.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't mean... I mean with all of you, of course!" Her eyes looked up to the heavens once again at her bad choice of words and she sighed. "What I mean is, I'll be staying overnight in your dorm to keep watch. I have reason to believe the demon is seeking out Harry."

"What reason!" burst out Neville. "You're always poking your nose into our affairs! Now you'll be..." His voice tailed off as he visualised himself having to undress with a girl in the bedroom.

Harry snorted. "Our dorm's high up in the Gryffindor Tower, Hermione! Surely you don't expect it to get up there!"

"Look, it was first sighted in the lowest dungeon – that's where it bit Pucey. Then it must have pushed up that slab near the Hufflepuff common room – the one that Hannah tripped over. Now we've seen it on the first floor."

They stared at her.

"Well, isn't it obvious? It's slowly working its way upwards as it becomes stronger."

.

True Grit

Neville need not have worried. Hermione sent Aculus up to the boys' dorm early, and only joined the raven after she judged the boys had long been in their beds. Despite her concerns, however, there were no alerts. Relying on the bird's sharp senses, she managed to get several hours of sleep invisibly each night on a conjured camp bed, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Much more visible was the Ministerial presence. Two Aurors had also been drafted in and Hagrid was helping with the search too. The staff were agitated and snippy. Snape in particular was angry at the intrusion, kicking at suits of armour as he passed and slashing with his wand at a portrait that had only exclaimed, "Well, really!" Filch grumbled double and even Flitwick seemed distracted.

Almost an entire week passed without incident and everyone began to relax again – except for Hermione. She alone knew how serious was the danger. Could even the expert team from the Ministry banish a demon?

"And that's roughly what you think you saw?" Madam Hoddle, the Head of Creature Disposals, raised a greying eyebrow but did not scoff at Ron and Neville. She had spoken to all four of the children, but only in a rather informal way. She seemed to regard the drawing Neville offered her as rather fanciful and that the beast, though a serious threat to the unwary and inexperienced, to be a routine matter. She creased it up and casually vanished the page with her wand – which greatly annoyed Hermione who was watching closely.

"Young Erkling, you think, Mathers? Possibly a stranded Kappa... Merlin, it could even be a stripped-off Leprechaun gone rogue – or a foreign Pixie-variant?" She shook her head. "How Dumbledore couldn't deal with this matter himself is beyond me," she muttered to her underling. "Bats in the belfry, I ask you!"

Without a sighting, Macnair had not even been called in, and by Sunday afternoon, the Ministry team was reduced to one man: Mathers. 'To keep an eye on things.'

On the Wednesday, everyone noticed that he too had gone, and as people do, without any visible threat, most everyone's concerns were blown away by the early winds of March. Harry led the way to the more normal seventh floor entrance to the Room of Requirement:

"It's much quicker than walking down to 4J, then we can pop out of that alcove and let the other Crestors in."

Ron and Hermione followed him closely, with the dispirited Neville some way behind as was common now.

As they passed the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, all their thoughts were dwelling on what spells they'd be practising.

"AAH!"

Hermione whirled around at Neville's cry, wand out instantly. Beyond him, a red, scaly creature, half-human, half-hound was bounding silently towards them from way down the passageway. One ferocious upward glance from its terrible glare shattered and flung down a chandelier at Neville, though Hermione swiftly managed to send its shards of glass hurtling back towards the fiend, startling and stalling its advance for a few moments – then it was racing onwards once more.

"RON! GET HARRY IN THE ROOM!" shrieked Hermione and she leapt right through Neville to defend him better. A long heavy table she conjured, overturning it as a barrier:

CRASH!

But this only delayed the beast a few more seconds while it wormed snarling through. Hermione began unleashing unheard of power in every form of which she could think – though merely delaying its inevitable attack.

"GO, NEVILLE! RUN!"

But Neville no longer seemed to have the will to save his sorry self. He'd leapt beside Hermione, drawn out his own wand, and was casting every hex and curse he knew, mixing with hers: flashes of colour, blasts of pressure, crackles like high voltage switches – all diverted the demonic hound only briefly as it neared, lowered in its stride, and sprang at him, slathering jaws agape.

As the horror leapt, Hermione screeched all of her last hope, "EVANESCO!"

Air both hot and cold brushed over Neville – nothing more. He staggered, spun around, still wildly hurling spells, but the creature had disappeared. "You vanished it? You vanished a living being that big?"

He felt over his arms and chest to confirm he was not injured then turned back to Hermione. She was on her knees, gasping weakly for air.

"Wasn't living – that's wh–" Hermione resumed panting.

"Even so..." He knelt down beside her, unsure what to do. "You saved me!"

"Of ... course," gasped Hermione, "tha's wha' ... friends ... do." She stared at him, seeing in her mind's eye how he'd stood unyieldingly with her against hopeless odds. _No courage? Neville Longbottom? Not much!_

Neville tried to absorb the magnitude of what had taken place. Looking behind, he noted that Ron had done his duty and both he and Harry must have gone into the Room. Awkwardly, he murmured, "Thanks, Hermione."

He stood up, then crouched again, feeling useless. "You were right – about it growing stronger, I mean," he added quickly. "Do you think you finished it off?"

"Let's hope so," puffed Hermione. "I really do hope so." Within, she was very uncertain. Vanishing normal objects into non-being was always final, but who knew what would happen with hell-spawn that had come from nothing in the first place?

Recovering, she had just cleared away the debris and repaired the chandelier when they heard shouts of alarm coming up the stair. "What's all the commotion up there?"

Grabbing Neville's arm, they rushed themselves into the Room of Requirement out of reach. Ron was still wrestling with Harry, his greater size too much for the wiry youth who had been too restricted to pull out his wand.

"Don't EVER do that to me again, Hermione!" shouted Harry. "I fight my own battles!"

"You don't need to prove yourself to me, Harry," she said wearily. "Thanks, Ron."

"What happened out there?" nodded Ron, releasing Harry who pushed him away with a huff.

"Hermione banished it! Or vanished it! Not sure which!" Neville was more animated and excited than they'd seen him in a while.

"You're alright?" Harry's eyes scanned over Hermione, looking for any signs of injury.

She smiled feebly. "No harm done."

"Nev?"

"Yeah." He had started to cool down, still absorbing the unbelievable experience and checking himself out again. No cuts, not even a rip in his clothing. He pulled out a single fragment of crystal that had tangled in the fabric of his robe and it flew off – presumably to rejoin the chandelier that Hermione had repaired. "It could do magic spells as well," he murmured, then more loudly, "It was unstoppable – yet you stopped it." He shook his head in amazement.

"It puzzles me too, Neville," said Hermione.

"Do we tell anyone?" said Ron.

Hermione frowned, thinking.

Harry said, "Why? If it's gone, and the Ministry people have left, let's not get involved again."

With a nod of agreement, Hermione said, "Let's go out the alcove way into 4J and start the meeting – that's our perfect cover. We were never even on the seventh floor, right?"

"Right," came back the chorus of relief.

.

Neither Here Nor There

Almost an entire day of quiet normality passed after Neville's narrow escape from the demon. He'd returned to brooding when not occupied with lessons or homework. "What do you suppose happens to things like... like that demon? If you vanish it into nothing?"

Hermione paused as a couple of Ravenclaws passed them while the four friends were walking down to dinner. "That's all it is: nothing, not being, non-existence. Nobody really knows what it means to not exist. You'd go crazy thinking about it."

"But you're talking about it like it's _something."_

Entering the Great Hall, they both fell silent and took their places at the Gryffindor table. A buzz of chatter followed them in soon after as more students arrived, and there was an odd note to it which caught Hermione's attention. Harry has sensed it too and trotted off to the entrance where he tried to peer out against the flow of kids pouring in.

"Fudge is here!" he cried in a loud whisper on his return. "And that woman from the Creatures Disposal. They're angry. Dumbledore looks really worried."

"Oh, not again!" moaned Ron. "Why can't we have dinner on time for once."

Several minutes passed. The twins had arrived and further up the table, other Gryffindors were leaning in to listen to their animated gossip. Neville was nearest and caught a few words. "That last man never turned up."

"What man?" said Harry.

"You mean Mathers?" guessed Hermione, with sudden alarm. "That man who was here last?"

"Yes," said Neville. "They thought he was still here. Dumbledore thought he'd gone. He's neither here nor there."

"They're starting a search!" George's voice was loud enough this time that the whole table could hear.

Ron toyed with his knife and fork, staring glumly at the empty plates. He looked up hopefully when the Headmaster strode in and stood himself at the top table – very few other staff were there. With a sweep of his hand, the food appeared, steaming hot and filling the air with enticing aromas then, with a few words to Flitwick, he departed as swiftly as he had arrived.

"Good man!" said Ron.

It wasn't until breakfast the next morning that McGonagall, an Auror by her side, announced that the remains of 'a man from the Ministry' had been discovered in a fifth-floor store cupboard and that 'this gentleman' (indicating the man at her side) would be routinely interviewing students and that they need not worr–

BANG!

McGonagall's final word was dashed from her lips as a mighty object from above shattered on the ground before the head table with a thunderous crash. Cracked and splintered oak planks sprayed and bounced along the central aisle amidst screams from the nearest students.

Still standing, McGonagall called for calm and followed the Auror to investigate, looking upward to try to determine from where the missile might have come, and faintly cringing at the prospect of another.

"Where did it fall from, and what in Merlin's name is it?" the Auror was heard to ask the Deputy Headmistress.

Hermione knew. She recognised the table she had conjured up on the seventh floor as a barricade. A clutch on her arm told her that Neville had also realised what it was. "That's..." he hissed softly. "But I thought you vanished it – you did," he added as he recalled the occasion of her clearing away the debris more vividly.

As Dumbledore and Fudge rushed in the door, Hermione whispered to her friends, "We need to talk..."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I've been ill over two weeks so not fit for anything let alone managing this story. On the good side, without even the strength to read a book in bed, my feverish mind was inspired with the main concepts (and many details) of Book 2 of this fic. Meanwhile, Book 1 is in good shape, so, if I keep recovering, we're good to go._ :)

 _bexis1 drew my attention to a continuity error. While immaterial, Hermione drew her wand in Chapter 21 but couldn't in Chapter 22! Well, she CAN move and somewhat interact with her own immaterial possessions in the same way as moving herself – it's part of the same enchantment. Therefore I have changed the sentence in Chapter 22._ :)

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	47. 1:An Early Easter

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. and somehow she managed to vanish a demon summoned by Daggard (the half-hag who was Harry's ex-bodyguard.) However, other vanished objects are now being mysteriously hurled back into existence, threatening everyone at the school. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 47**

 **An Early Easter**

* * *

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The Last Straw

"It's still alive, isn't it?" said Neville, as he and the other three sat down in Room 4J to discuss the day's events and the reappearance of the barricade table that Hermione had vanished. "The demon?"

Hermione gave a brief shake of her head. "Well, that's the thing, isn't it? A demon is not really a living being at all. We're dealing with two unknowns: animate dead, and how a vanished object can ever appear again; it's impossible."

"But it's happened," said Harry.

"And it wasn't real to begin with – your table, I mean," said Neville. "You conjured it out of nothing, vanished it into nothing, and now it's... well, I don't know what it is."

"Conjured objects generally only last as long as the magical power poured into the spell, otherwise everything we use would be permanently conjured. I put a lot into making that table really solid but I doubt it would have lasted more than a few days."

"But where'd it come from?" said Ron.

"Nowhere," said Neville. There was a hollowness to his tone.

Harry said, "And how'd the demon get to the Great Hall from the seventh floor if it was 'nowhere'?"

Hermione said, "Apart from warning the other Crestors to be extra alert, move around the castle in groups and run away from anything that threatens, I don't see what we can do."

Ron snorted. "I doubt they need a warning, Hermione. I think a ton of wood landing nearly on someone's head would be enough, don't you?"

Nevertheless, word was passed around but over the next few weeks very little transpired to alarm anybody. Filch grumbled about junk being left in one of the corridors. Seamus complained when he tumbled over a broken chair in Potions that he swore hadn't been there moments ago and that Snape had deducted house points for his causing a disturbance. Stale food occasionally was served amongst the fresh and the house-elves were severely chastised for this exceptional occurrence.

Easter was approaching before the next major catastrophe. The weather had been miserable all day with the rain never letting up, and the sombre sky had been visible in the magical ceiling right through to the end of the evening meal. The tiny form of Flitwick was departing up the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall, picking his way carefully between the kneecaps of the throngs of students heading back to their common rooms.

"Watch out, Stebbins," he cried, as he was almost trodden upon by one of his own fourth-years.

"Sorry, sir."

Those were the boy's last words for many a week. A badly-warped cauldron hit his jaw and only Flitwick's quick cushioning spell prevented Stebbins' neck being broken.

Madam Pomfrey, after being called, despatched the invalid directly to St. Mungo's 'for delicate reconstruction'. The Headmaster called a staff meeting.

"It is enough, I now believe," he addressed his teachers gravely, "for the Ministry to consider closing Hogwarts. We must find a solution promptly if we are to avert such a calamity."

"But who is behind these attacks?" queried Professor Sprout.

Quirrell said, "It's where they are operating from that puzzles me the most."

"The Auror Department will be conducting a more thorough investigation of the castle," said Dumbledore. "Our priority right now is to protect the students. I propose we ask those who are able that they depart early and take an extended Easter break while the matter is sorted out. "Minerva, if you and the other heads of house would organise a rapid consultation with the students to discover which of their parents are able to accept their return at this time we–"

"Well, all of them, I would hope!" cried McGonagall.

"One would think so, but there is always the possibility of incapacity, absence while travelling, business, and so on. We cannot simply send students back to possibly empty homes. Those who cannot be received at this time will need to be kept in the safest area we can think of."

"There is no safe area anywhere in the castle!" complained Snape. "Old furniture, equipment, and other material is being manifested randomly – so it would seem. Normally I would suspect Peeves, but his aim is far better."

"Then we must consider elsewhere," said the Headmaster.

Flitwick piped up. "May I remind you all that Rosmerta has a generously-sized meeting hall above the Three Broomsticks that would easily hold twenty or thirty, possibly a little more. Surely no more space than that would be required?"

McGonagall's face brightened. "And she has plenty of accommodation and can provide hot meals. Our own house-elves can supplement that if necessary."

"Ah, yes, we also tend to overlook the safety of the elves, don't we?" confessed Dumbledore. "The Hogs Head Inn can provide them with quarters, I'm sure, with possibly just a few returning here briefly as needed?"

The staff came to an agreement and set about implementing it. Students began packing their trunks. The Hogwarts Express was called into service for an especially-early trip. Minister Fudge insisted that the elongated holiday break be described as for 'extensive spring cleaning' and made it clear to Dumbledore that he had until the start of the next term to 'get his ship in order'.

All students were told to report to Professor McGonagall if they were not leaving, or else to Professor Flitwick if they were able to go home.

.

Planning for Easter

"I'm staying," said Neville firmly as they discussed the matter in the boys' dorm. "I'm not going."

"What!" cried Ron, who was already fussing over his travel chest. "We get extra holidays and you're staying at school with a murderin' lunatic on the prowl?"

"It's a demon, Ron, I told you," said Hermione.

"Ah, that makes it alright then. Just a murderin' loony _demon"_

"They're giving leavers extra homework, Ron, masses of it," said Harry.

"Tell me you're joking!" spluttered Ron. He paused, looking ruefully at the pair of socks he'd been about to stow in his trunk.

Hermione said, "Yes, but there'll be improvised classwork for those that stay."

Ron dropped his socks into the trunk then sat on his bed.

After chewing her lower lip for a while, Hermione risked a question, "Why are you staying, Neville?"

He frowned before replying. "Listen, I've been thinking..." He went over to check no one was on the stairs outside then closed the door. "We know the demon was vanished, and we know it's obviously found a way to 'unvanish' stuff that's been previously vanished – and it can do magic spells, remember?"

The others nodded. "So what?" said Ron.

"Well, it must be somewhere to do that, even if it's uumm... nowhere, right?"

"Yeah, and this conversation is going nowhere for sure," grumbled Ron. He stared at his socks indecisively.

But Neville was showing some excitement now, and ploughed on. "What if we could see the demon where it is? What if we could even destroy it where it is?"

"How?" said Harry.

Neville looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione. He showed signs of nervousness. "Your magic mirrors."

Hermione blinked. Ron tried to laugh but failed. Harry gaped.

"In what way?" said Hermione at last, but she had a horrible feeling she knew what he was going to tell them.

"Hermione, you have to..." His voiced faded.

"I have to what?"

"You need to... _vanish_ one of the mirrors."

"You're mad!" cried Ron, finding his voice at last.

Harry shook his head and glared at Neville. "Yeah, what Ron said. No way are we destroying either of our priceless mirrors."

"It won't work," said Hermione in a sing-song voice, certain of herself and Neville's ignorance.

Neville turned to his last hope. "Hermione, I doubt it's ever been done before. Two-way mirrors are expensive and hard to come by, and nobody has ever heard of a vanished object coming back either, so they don't even know there's anything there to come back from. But _we_ do! It's knowledge, Hermione! New knowledge! Not in any books! Better than any book! You'd be a great discoverer! Think about it."

She chewed some more on her lip. "I don't think it will work."

"Why?" He sensed the beginnings of doubt in her tone.

"Conjuring is like the opposite of vanishing – they're all part of the group of Transfiguration spells. Gemino is also of that type."

"So?"

"You can duplicate or conjure a magical object but the result won't be magical. Even if it survived being vanished, the mirror would lose its magic."

"But someone like Dumbledore could conjure say... an animated suit of armour."

She shook her head even before he finished speaking. "No he can't. He'd conjure a suit of armour then he'd animate it." She saw the disbelief in his eyes. "Look, I'll show you. Hold out your wand."

"What? Why?"

"I'm not going to harm it, just copy it."

Neville hesitated.

"Look, do you believe in this or not?"

A look of resolve replaced the doubt in Neville's expression. He took out his wand and held it up.

"No, hover it away from you else I risk duplicating your fingers as well – not a pretty sight."

"I can't. I need the wand to hover it."

"Sure you can, Neville. Remember the simplest wandless training we've practised... focus."

Neville gulped and focused on the wand held out to one side by the very tips of his fingers. Sweat poured down his face.

Ron laughed but left his trunk and came over to watch.

Neville's hand trembled very slightly. So did the wand as it drifted free...

"Geminio," Hermione said quietly, plucking a duplicate of Neville's wand out of the air and handing it to Neville. His original fell on the floor as he lost control of his hover spell.

"Well, give it a wave. Cast a light."

Reluctantly, Neville did so. "Lumos... LUMOS!" Nothing happened.

"Told you." Hermione picked up his original wand and handed it to him.

"But you didn't try hard enough!" cried Neville. "You vanished a DEMON before, remember! Nothing more magical than a magical creature even if it was uuh... dead."

Hermione smiled patronisingly. "Of course I did, Neville. Anyone can _vanish_ a magical object. That doesn't mean..." She tailed off, lost in thought.

"... _it's magic wouldn't survive_ – that's what you were going to say, wasn't it, Hermione?" said Neville. A strange light burned in his eyes. "But now we know different, don't we? The demon's magic survived. Why not the mirror's?"

"My God..." murmured Hermione.

Neville pressed home his advantage. "You'll be the first person in history to look into the unknown. Think about it, Hermione."

"Now hang on a minute," said Harry. "We're not going to destroy one of our mirrors just to have a chat with a vanished demon... are we?"

"To behold Non-being," Neville said, looking closely at Hermione, and his voice was faintly hypnotic. "You'd be the first to see a new world. You'd be like the wizard Galileo discovering moons around other planets; it would change everything. Everything, Hermione."

She stared at him, feeling slightly intoxicated. "Hover your wand again, Neville."

His eyes widened with new expectation, then he did as she asked.

Hermione took out her wand – Neville was correct that she hadn't tried too hard before – and braced one leg against Harry's bed. "GEMINIO!" she roared fiercely, thrusting as much magic into the spell as she could.

Startled, Neville not only dropped his own wand again but stumbled back to sit on Ron's bed. Hermione, feeling slightly weakened by her effort, handed him the new duplicate. "Try it."

Tentatively, Neville lifted the new wand. "Lumos," said he, very firmly. A light blossomed. It was not quite as bright as he might have expected with his original wand, but still...

Legs trembling, Hermione fumbled blindly behind her for something solid then sat down gratefully on the bed she found there, Harry's bed, disturbed and even a little frightened. "Goodness," was all she could say.

"That's impossible," said Ron, gazing into the glow of Neville's illumination with a kind of reverent awe. "Downright impossible."

"Your magic's growing, Hermione," whispered Harry. It seemed a sacrilege to raise his voice any louder. "You said you had the accumulation of your previous life, didn't you – and now your new life's magic is still adding to it."

"Goodness," said Hermione again. "Gamp was wrong."

For a long time nobody spoke, each considering the magnitude of Neville's plan. The alternative was to walk away. Hogwarts might be closed permanently. Unthinkable.

"So, is everyone in?" said Neville, taking charge at last.

"Yes, if Harry is agreeable," said Hermione.

Harry frowned but nodded. "I'm in."

"Ron?" said Neville.

He shook his head grimly then said, "Okay, yes, but Mum'll be furious if we spend days on this and she's not sure whether I'm coming or going."

"Not necessarily," said Neville. "First, we all send an owl home saying the official line about the school closing for extended holidays and that they're moving everyone to the Three Broomsticks while they're rumoured to clear out... I dunno, an infestation of Doxys from the castle. Then..." He looked carefully at their expressions, "we _don't_ report to McGonagall – if we're not on her list she'll assume we're leaving, if she thinks about us at all which she won't because she's rushed off her feet as it is."

"So we tell–" began Harry.

"No – we don't report to Flitwick either. He'll be dealing with hundreds of students and couldn't possibly think of everybody. Even if he did, he'd assume we're staying."

"So we're doing neither?"

"Well, we're not staying at the Three Broomsticks for sure. We stock up and stay here in the Room of Requirement. We'll have over three weeks to use the mirrors to learn everything we can."

"So no classwork and no homework either..." said Ron. "I like it."

.

Lively Haste

"I'm not sure we should attempt the vanishing in here," said Hermione. "This room is entirely magical and unplottable; it probably doesn't exist in any real space. We don't know how it might affect things."

"What do you mean?" said Neville.

"Well, what if there is some correlation between Being and Non-being? I mean, the demon was somehow unvanishing things but in a haphazard way at first. If it intended to hit Harry with that oak table, it was wide of the mark, but the spoilt food was exactly on the dishes where it had probably been leftovers before and vanished by the elves. The creature is learning what it can and can't do somehow..."

Neville nodded, a little pocket quill and book in his hands. He seemed to be making notes. "Go on."

"Then the cauldron that hit Stebbins was bang on – assuming the demon had estimated there'd be a crowd of students on the grand stair at that time. Now it's probably trying to figure out where exactly Harry will be at a given time. I'm not saying it's possible, just that it's trying to figure out how to get back at us."

"So...?"

"So if there is some spatial relationship then let's go outside close to where I vanished the creature. Yes, it has moved about, but that's our best hope for spotting it through the mirror – though I wish we could move or turn the mirror about after I vanish it."

"Perhaps we can," said Neville. "Or rather, perhaps _you_ can. Look, put one of the mirrors facing that table then try casting a hover charm on the table."

"What will that prove?" said Ron.

"He means through the other mirror, don't you, Neville?" She shook her head. "This is ridiculous."

"So why are you trying it then?" grinned Harry.

"In the interests of science," said Hermione, rather primly. "There... Wingardium Leviosa!"

The table lifted into the air.

"It might have somehow received the spell directly," she said thoughtfully. "Intention is often more important than focusing direction. We can't be sure the spell went through the mirrors."

"We won't know till we try it for real then," said Neville, snapping shut his notebook. "Come on, let's do it."

"What, n-now?" stuttered Harry.

"You seem in an awful hurry," said Hermione. "Let's think about it some more."

"What's to think about?" said Neville. "Either it works or it doesn't."

"Yeah, but it's _my_ mirror we're talking about," grumbled Harry. He held it up.

"I thought we were using mine?" said Hermione.

"I inherited mine – to do with as I wish – answerable to nobody. My first Dad's portrait won't even know. Yours was a direct gift from Sirius to protect me. How'd you explain it when you lose it?" He waggled his mirror at her to emphasise his point.

"That makes no sense. The result's the same," said Hermione.

Neville plucked Harry's mirror from his hand.

Harry jumped up. "Where're you going with that?"

"Outside. Come when you're ready."

He closed the door after himself.

"What has gotten into him?" said Ron. "He's been moping for weeks and now there's something real to worry about he's the happiest I've seen him – well, not happy exactly, but you know what I mean."

"Lively," said Harry.

"Yeah," said Ron. "As lively as a mad march hare."

When they followed Neville out, Hermione lagged behind a few steps, wondering...

.

So Final

Neville was sat on the floor against the corridor wall when Ron and Harry emerged; clearly he'd expected them to take longer. "All set? Where's Hermione?"

"Coming," said Ron.

"Right." He walked over to the middle of the passageway and looked around. "I was about on this spot when the demon jumped at me and vanished... here." He held out Harry's mirror then, seeing Hermione was joining them, he hovered the mirror just clear of his hand.

"Hold your horses, Nev," said Harry, feeling he was being rushed. "Let's consider this a bit more."

"What's to consider!" cried Neville impatiently. "Let's get on with it."

The others all stared at him.

"Remember, use all your power, Hermione to make sure the mirror's magic is transferred in full as well."

She looked at the others askance and sighed. There could only be one outcome even if she delayed. They were unlikely to remain all through the extended Easter and do nothing after all.

Neville seemed to read her thoughts, "Otherwise, why are we here?"

Again she hesitated.

"Go for it!" cried Neville, "My wand arm's aching hovering this ruddy–"

"EVANESCO!" shouted Hermione, pointing her wand and heaving all her magic into the spell – just as Neville moved sideways directly into its path – and vanished.

Silence.

Hermione was transfixed for several long moments then collapsed, weeping heavily.

"We killed him!" wailed Harry. "We killed Neville!" He sank down beside Hermione and put an arm around her shoulder. "We should have waited ... knew we should but I ... given it more thought... Oh, Hermione, please don't cry – it wasn't your fault."

Ron stared at the place where their companion had been. One moment he'd been with them, the next, he no longer existed. It was all so final. And he himself had just stood there and let it happen. Affected by Hermione's deep emotion, Ron too lowered himself to his knees to cling to his remaining friends – they seemed suddenly much more precious. He could not hold back his own tears.

.

The Dancing Horror

After the loss of Neville to Hermione's vanishing spell, she rose first from her knees and went to the window at the end of the corridor. The glass was heavily stained and grubby, seeming to match her low spirits, yet it had enough brightness to blind her for a few moments to the scene of the awful crime. No true relief came however. "I should have seen this coming," she murmured.

"You knew?" said Harry, getting up from the floor with Ron.

Hermione shook her head. "I half suspected that if we vanished the mirror he might beg me to go after it on some pretext when really..."

"But why?" said Ron. "Why would he do that? Why would anyone?"

"He was desperately unhappy." She felt a pressure in her heart, the weight of her guilt. "That was all my fault."

"He no longer wanted to exist? He wanted it that badly?" said Harry, approaching her more closely.

"I thought he'd get over it," she said despondently. "I was sure he would."

"Get over what?" said Ron.

"I can't say. Don't ask."

"Thing is, I'm completely empty inside – gutted," said Harry. "I keep thinking he's still here with us – almost see his face and hear him saying stuff like he does."

"Merlin! Me as well!" Ron's mouth fell wide open and his hands went to his ears. "I'm imagining things too! Hear that?"

The sound was faint – and it came from Hermione's beaded bag. Astonishment suffused her features, paralysing the girl for a moment, numbing her fingers as she fumbled to open the bag.

"Hey, guys! This is great! Wheeeeeee! I can almost fly!"

"Neville?" croaked Hermione, finally fishing out her own mirror. "You're alive?"

"The vanished are real! At least to me they are. And I've found a way to search!" came the voice again. "Don't try to stop me!"

"Neville!" Hermione cried, staring into the mirror but seeing only a whirl of pale greys. "What are you doing!"

But the boy wasn't listening. "I'll leave the mirror here so you can see!"

The reflection steadied, though only a jumble of pallid surfaces was to be seen.

Harry, who'd taken longer than Hermione to get over his shock, shouted, "He's going after the demon on his own? Has it driven him mad?"

"No, Harry," Hermione said, and her voice was shaking, "it's not the demon he's looking for."

"What then?" said Ron. "There won't be any treasure, not even in a world full of rubbish. Nobody vanishes anything valuable. ... Do they?" His tone had turned wistful with curiosity at the end.

Harry paid him no attention. "Where's Nev off to then? Why didn't he take the mirror with him? How can you unvanish him out again, Hermione, if you can't even see him?"

"There's no way I can conjure him out through the mirror, Harry. You saw the new wand I copied. Even pouring in all my magic, the copied wand didn't work as well as the original."

"How then? We can't leave him there."

Hermione screwed up her face and turned away, a new burden now pressing down upon her. "I'd have to join him myself. Send him back from there."

"But..."

"Vanishing myself – even if it's possible – would utterly drain me." She held up her wand as if thinking it through.

"NO, Hermione!" yelled Harry. "You'd be helpless! What if that thing came back and saw you lying there? It's not going to go far if it's after me, is it?"

"This is just... sick," said Ron. "Vanishing people out of existence is insane. Even for treasure."

"We can't just abandon Neville if there's a chance," said Hermione.

The sound of far-off voices alerted them there were still a few other people left in the castle – Aurors, Disposal personnel, Dumbledore. They retreated into the Room where they remained silent for a while, fretting and worrying about Neville.

"I'll go," Harry said at last. "It's mostly my fault anyway since I let him have my mirror. And you've already vanished Neville so we know now that you can do it to me as well. It seems strange to us at the moment, but Floo travel and Portkeys would seem odd if you didn't know about them already. Or travelling in an underground electric train! How weird is that?"

Ron gaped at him, his thoughts racing.

Hermione shook her head. "NO. WAY. Harry! It's YOU the demon is after."

"If _you_ go, Harry..." Ron said very slowly, "then... I'd go with you."

"RON!" cried Hermione.

"Look," said Ron, me and Harry together can suss the place out, hide if necessary, report back to you properly – not go gallivanting off on some wild goose chase like Neville."

Harry joined in, "And we could tell the Room to leave this door open long enough for you to get back in, Hermione – even if you have to crawl. You'd be safe here even if takes you hours to recover. Then, when you vanish yourself, we two will already be there to protect and hide you until you are strong again."

"No," Hermione said quite firmly.

"You'd leave Neville to die?"

"Or worse?" added Ron.

Hermione considered that. She'd already visualised Neville's fate and the young girl shuddered visibly.

"What, you reckon the demon'll get him?" said Harry.

"Worse."

"What's worse than that?" said Ron.

Hermione was unable to answer them. She understood now Neville's recent growing excitement after so long being in the doldrums. He must have had only one thing on his mind. ' _The vanished are real!'_ he'd cried. But how could she convey her inner vision of Neville's new life playing midst heaps of garbage? Grinning insanely and dancing with a two-dimensional horror made only of paint: a half-alive-half-dead abnormality named Princess Etherea? Hermione made up her mind.

"Give me half an hour to recover all my strength," she said.

Relief showed on Harry's face, but in Ron's eyes something else glinted. Was it greed?

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _The spelling of Gemino and Geminio bugs me a bit. One is the spell name, the other is the incantation, but I can't help wonder if JKR meant both to be Gemino (which means double whereas Geminio has no meaning and is similar to Gemini – the twin.) Anyway, I've stuck with canon so don't assume it's a spelling mistake in my fic._

 _Also, I don't know that Gamp had stated any law concerning conjuring or duplicating magical items but it sounds like it would have been one of his claims that everyone would accept because no one had ever done it. To magical society it might be as sacrilegious to say Gamp was wrong as to claim the Earth wasn't flat._

 _I'm several chapters ahead now, so trying to post every 7 to 10 days again. No promises though, but it's looking good._ :)

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	48. 1:Non-being

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. She vanished a demon which then began hurling back other vanished objects from non-being. While trying to locate the demon with a two-way mirror, Neville was also vanished. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 48**

 **Non-being**

* * *

.

Search Party

"This is where I vanished Neville and the mirror," said Hermione as they took their places near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. "Assuming he again lost control of his hovering charm, the mirror would have fallen about... here."

"Lucky it didn't break, really," said Ron.

Harry said, "But we know he picked it up. And who knows how far he wandered before he put it down again."

"Not far is my guess," said Hermione. "He wasn't gone that long and he'd have been astonished, even frightened. Without a visible enemy to flee from, people tend to hunker down in a new, possibly dangerous, situation and observe for a while."

"So if we use this as a start point..." said Ron.

Harry said, "We can move around in increasing circles. You stay at the centre so–"

"No, I'll circle around you," said Ron promptly.

Hermione cut off any budding argument. "No heroics – especially you, Harry. You both should just hide and watch under Harry's cloak at first then circle to find the mirror and report back. After that, find any high ground, I suppose."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. "Ground?" said Harry. "We don't even know if there'll be any ground. I mean, who vanishes ground?"

Ron said, "And Neville said he was flying without a–"

"–broom!" Hermione strode to the window and flung it open. "Accio two broomsticks! You never know, they might give you an edge."

Ten minutes later they were ready. Each of the two boys had a pack containing supplies of food and anything they thought might be of use, as well as each clutching a broomstick from the Quidditch equipment shed.

Hermione winced. "I don't like it now I see you standing there: two living people, two magical wands, two magical broomsticks – and a magical cloak as well."

"You can't do us separately," said Harry. "It'll take far longer. Neville could be anywhere."

"Leave the invisibility cloak with me then, that demon will home in on you anyway, Harry, and leave one of the brooms too. Huddle down close together with your arms well tucked in and I'll try to direct my magic at you as a whole. Then it will either work as one group or it won't work at all, so not uumm... leaving any... erm appendages lying about unvanished."

"Eww..." muttered Ron, unconsciously patting his limbs as if to make sure he was starting in one piece at least.

"Ready?" she said.

Harry crouched down with Ron. Since she expected to collapse after the effort involved, she lay down facing forward and took aim with her wand. After one last glance to ensure the Room of Requirement was still open close by, she steadied her aim at the centre of their huddle, summoned all the magical power she had, and cried, "EVANESCO!"

There was no fuss, no flash, no puff of smoke, the boys were no longer there at all, and Hermione began to drag herself into the Room – safe from discovery by Ministerial staff or Dumbledore.

.

Ashes to Ashes

Hermione spent the next several minutes fretting and worrying, sick with fear for her three friends lost in non-being. Terrible thoughts assaulted her: _They don't exist anymore. ... What if I can't vanish myself? ... Even if I could, can I do as the demonic Voldemort has done and unvanish vanished objects back to reality? Let alone ourselves which even the creature has so far failed to do? And how to survive the hell-beast let alone defeat it? Perhaps by now it has weakened..._

"Don't come, Hermione!" came Harry's voice in a raised, fearful whisper.

A sob of relief escaped Hermione's lips as she pulled up her magic mirror. "Oh, Harry...! Are you alright? You're not hurt? Both of you?"

"We're fine but Ron caught sight of the demon and says it's huge now!"

Ron, breathless, butted in, his head pressed against Harry's to get in the mirror's view. "A scaly sort of werewolf thing with ram's horns and gigantic claws and... well, it's a devil alright. There's no way we can beat that."

"Did it see you?"

"No, that's the only good thing," said Ron. "I took one look and ducked behind a hillock of woody things. The demon can't move so fast – has to cling and scuttle you see."

"What! Why can't it run?"

"Run?" cried Harry. "Hermione, everything's back to front here and crazy. It's all shifting and–"

"–nothing to hold anything down!" said Ron. "No gravvelly– what did you call it, Harry?"

"No gravity, Hermione. There's no gravity at all. No one ever vanished gravity!"

Hermione's head jerked back in astonishment, trying to encompass what they were saying. "But how can that be? You can breathe? There's breathable air? What's holding it down? And who vanishes air anyway?" She flung up an arm in confusion.

Ron and Harry glanced at each other. "Like to like, similar to similar," said Ron, "that's all we reckon it is." – "Definitely!" Harry cut in before Ron continued to explain – "We think the air around objects or trapped inside broken cupboards and desks and chests that have been vanished over thousands of years, well, it all seeped out gradually I guess. Air's dragged to air you see, paper to paper, rags to... rags." He looked thoughtful suddenly.

Harry said, "Dead bodies, Hermione. We think there must be thousands vanished over the centuries, buried under all the other stuff – that's what's holding us down a bit – that and our clothes and shoes and there's tons of old Hogwarts parchment round here and–"

"Parchment?"

Ron said, "Yeah, anything that once was living has a bit of a pull on us. It's animal skin you see."

"I know what parchment is, Ronald!"

"There's not much alive here apart from us I mean, what idiot would vanish anything still living? – Oh, we did see a mouse once though, didn't we Harry?"

"Uuh...right." Hermione kept quiet, wondering if it was the one that had so frightened Fay in their dorm until she vanished it.

"We stuffed our pockets with bits of broken cauldrons and scraps like pan handles. It helps," said Ron.

"We've not tried the broom yet. We daren't show ourselves." Harry frowned. "But we could still leap twenty or thirty feet if we tried. Did it by accident. Once was enough. It's like being on the moon and this place is vast."

"Show me."

A blur of tepid shapes flew across the mirror.

"Hold it steady," said Hermione.

"I'm trying. The mirror wants to... It's being tugged on by other glass. ... There!"

Hermione truly beheld a lunar landscape of mounds and hills of debris, yet the horizon was above her view. "Tilt up a bit, Harry."

He did. The boundary with the sky was so vague she did not see it at first. "Why's everything so... grey?"

"The older stuff seems to lose a bit of colour and the sky's–"

"–cloudy," said Hermione. "Why's the water vapour not drawn – oh! Is there any water?"

"It's not cloudy, Hermione," said Harry in a solemn tone. "The sky itself is grey. No sun, but there's dull dots we think are–"

"–Where's the light coming from then?"

"It isn't," said Ron. "There's no shadows. Just some steady light everywhere."

Hermione mused aloud, "Ambient light – probably released from vanished fires and... _Nox!_ Every time we douse a Lumos light we're vanishing it! And yet light doesn't hang about! It just doesn't work like that!"

"Nothing works like it should," said Ron pushing Harry's mirror hand around to show her something new.

"What in God's name is that!" A tall plinth had appeared in the reflection, a pillar of what appeared to be denser, heavily compressed material.

"Harry thinks it's where the Room of Requirement is in uuh... Reality."

"Yeah, because the Room conjures and disappears everything inside it loads and loads of times. That's all it does when you think about it. Maybe its magic is a bit different because it stays there. Probably it unvanishes stuff over and over in the same place."

"Incredible! But no water did you say?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, we've not seen any but our water bottles keep pulling–"

"–thataway," pointed Ron. "And I'm sure I saw a bit of mist in that direction too."

"We can live here, Hermione," said Harry unenthusiastically. "You don't need to worry about us. We'll find Neville and make camp somewhere and–"

"For heaven's sake, you're NOT staying there! Look, give me an hour or two and my magic should be fully restored. Don't you go far – and leave a trail of pointers somehow."

"It'll creep," said Ron.

"What? What will creep?"

"Hermione, here _everything_ creeps."

.

The Rolling Hills

All of two hours passed before Hermione felt fully restored. Cautiously she left the Room of Requirement and listened carefully at the top of the stairs. An unnatural silence pervaded the passageways of Hogwarts where normally the muffled sounds of hundreds of students leaked from their classrooms to convey the inner life of the castle.

"Harry? Ron?" she whispered, taking up her position close to their earlier vanishing point.

"All clear." Harry's voice. "We're ready."

She pushed the mirror back into her beaded bag and lay down on the floor once more. This might not be pleasant. Fearfully she pointed her wand at her own face...

"Evanesco."

The incantation was not loud but Hermione's tone was commanding and her intent formidable. Magic exploded from and through her, raking her mind and body with power. For once, the trolls of Barnabas the Barmy stopped their dancing and stared out from the wall tapestry. Hermione Granger was no more.

Harry grabbed her hand – that was her only anchor in a mind that teetered betwixt being and not. Stinging bile came up her throat as her stomach seemed to fall away.

"Breathe, Hermione!"

She tried. She succeeded, sucking in air as gratefully as if she'd surfaced from the ocean depths.

"And open your eyes!"

She dare not. How high was she?

Harry pressed her down a little so she could sense the litter of torn paper and damaged books beneath her body.

Fluttering eyes opened and she grabbed Harry's ankle as he crouched beside her. "I wish you'd warned me!"

"Yeah, I should have mentioned it's a bit unsettling at first," he grinned.

Hermione wanted to bash him. She settled for digging her fingernails deeper through his sock.

"Ouch! Look, you're not going to float away – not unless you get up too quickly, and even then you'll come back down."

She felt Ron pushing hard lumpy things into her pockets. "This'll steady you a bit."

When she sat shakily up, Harry held her – though there was little to cause her to slump back down even though she was physically and magically weakened. An amazing scene met her gaze...

As far as the eye could see were sweeping hills of matted garbage: dusty jungles of broken furniture, tangled bushes of newsprint and discarded papers, ragged swathes of torn fabrics betwixt rubbery rubble, and above it all, a matching sombre sky bland and empty of aught but duller, greyer specks.

Hermione blinked and gaped and gasped. "What are they? Stars?"

"Nobody vanishes stars, Hermione. We think they're other junk worlds like this," said Harry. "Must be magical people light years away, vanishing their unwanted waste over thousands, maybe millions of years."

"But they'd run out of matter if they're that huge! Is _this_ place we're in bigger than Earth?"

"Conjured and copied stuff, Hermione, think of so much being conjured out of nothing then eventually it vanishes away. But here nothing fades away – except maybe colour. Tons of things seem that way." He picked up a teacup. "See? This one's not even cracked. Who'd throw that away if it had been a real one?"

Ron said, "Yeah, but it'll get bust up soon enough."

"Why?"

"Haven't you even noticed yet?" Ron said airily. "It's all on the move. Even the hills topple over in the direction they're moving then creep over themselves from the back."

Harry glared at Ron then fluffed over Hermione's ignorance. "Well we didn't notice either at first, did we, Ron, because it's slow and so much is moving together like a conveyor belt with us on it. But see how the pillar of things from the Room of Requirement is fixed? Now watch carefully..."

He walked away a few paces – quite gingerly, Hermione noted, and drifting a yard or so at every step like a moonwalker without a spacesuit – then put down the teacup on a patch of old carpet. "See? You'd hardly know it's moving because the carpet's inching along the same way too. Compare it with the plinth or something travelling the opposite way, like that erm... lead pipe. That must have wriggled all the way from Hogsmeade."

"So that's the plinth..." said Hermione, gazing at the pillar of junk as if it were an Egyptian monument. "Fascinating!"

"The cup, Hermione, the cup...?" urged Harry.

"Ah yes..." she stared for a while. "But where's it going? Where's everything going?"

"Clumping. Like to like, similar to similar. This teacup will eventually meet up with other pottery and form mounds. But the mounds creep too – into bigger mounds, and eventually–"

"–into crockery mountains," breathed Hermione.

"And look..." said Ron, craftily. "He took a sickle out of his pocket and placed it on the compressed pulp below his feet. "Eh? Eh?" he grinned, watching her expression.

The sickle was edging along the crushed ground already, feeling its way and almost sniffing for a trail to its brother coins. Hermione shook her head to clear the impression. _It's doing no such thing!_

"So, you think there's a mountain of treasure somewhere, do you, Ron? Hardly likely. Valuables are the least likely items to be vanished. Most probably that sickle will match up with fake Leprechaun gold."

Ron's face fell. "But..."

"And from what Harry said, that fake gold is permanent here yet if we find a way home then it's bound to vanish again."

There was silence for a few moments as the uncertainty she'd expressed about their return hung in the air, but she soon continued, "However..."

Unwilling yet to stand, she glanced quickly around. "Can you help me up that heap of – what _is_ that stuff?"

"Tiny bits of stone. We think Hogwarts castle must be crumbling and the elves clear it away. Or maybe they conjure it back to do repair work because I don't think that's moving either."

"Else the castle is repairing itself then because it's still pristine after a thousand years," said Hermione, as Harry, keeping an uneasy lookout for the demon, hooked an arm under hers and lifted the girl easily up the slope.

"You know," she said, once they were atop the small mound, "I think perhaps I don't need much strength to stand on my own."

As she placed her feet down, Harry released her. "Oo-er..." she moaned queasily.

"Don't make any sudden moves, Hermione."

"Don't worry, I won't." She ever-so-slowly moved one foot.

He laughed. "When I said 'not sudden' I didn't mean that slow – hey! Why not try your floaty immaterial thing!"

She looked at him. "You know, that's not a bad idea. I've not enough magic yet but when I do..." She began looking about. They were still surrounded by far higher mounds and hillocks but she had a better range now.

"What exactly are you looking for?" he said.

"Have you seen any pictures – paintings, I mean? Even a scrap of canvas? A watercolour might do."

"Nothing like that."

"Yeah, we did," said Ron, from halfway down the mound. He pulled Luna's gremlin sketch out of his pocket. "Remember this?" He leapt like a feather up to them and handed the torn page to Hermione.

"The sketch that Disposal woman vanished! Of course!"

"What about it though?" said Harry. "The demon's much bigger than that now. It'll be a T. Rex if it goes on like it is doing."

"You're sure that similar goes to similar?"

"Yeah. It's the type of thing that decides it more than the material. Least we think it is. I mean, it's complicated because so much is made of different substances – a metal saucepan with a wooden handle for instance."

"Help me down the slope again."

The need was much less this time. With restrained steps and clutching Harry's arm, she descended once more and, after loosely screwing up the paper into a little ball, she placed it upon the crunched debris on which she now so lightly stood. Immediately it began drifting and rolling as if a gentle breeze had caught it. "See?"

"What?"

"It might help us find Neville," she whispered, entranced by the lifelike movement of the paper scrap.

Harry looked at Ron who shrugged. "How?"

"Uuh..." She tried to think quickly. "Remember how he likes to chat to every portrait he passes in the castle? Erm... maybe he thought he could ask for help if he found one here," she added lamely.

"Not a bad plan actually," said Ron agreeably. "If they've been here for years, they might know things, and, let's face it, we're not going to find any living people, are we?"

"Let's follow it then!" cried Harry.

They set off, albeit at a snail's pace, but at least they now felt they were doing something constructive.

.

Death Chase

Over the next hour, Hermione recovered most of her strength – both physical and magical – and even adjusted to tentative moonwalking on her own. Her immaterial spell worked well too, enabling the girl to control her flying when needed.

"So why's that any different?" said Ron. "I'd have thought you'd be used to floating about."

"It's quite different. You don't lose your stomach for one thing. Weightlessness is like nothing is holding you, but with my spell I feel sort of secure where I want to be. Pity I can't use it for more than a few minutes at a time though."

Ron nodded while not understanding at all. He'd brought his sickle along for the walk and it was following a very similar path to Luna's sketch though it was now easily ahead in the race. He also nudged it along occasionally with his toe, a wistful expression on his face. "Come on... come on..."

"Oy, that's cheating!" grinned Harry.

Hermione stopped. That wasn't unusual since even their slowest pace was too fast for the creeping litter, but Harry noticed her attitude. "What?" he said.

"That's brilliant, Ron!"

"It is?"

"Look, we've seen the general direction for ages. Why don't we just keep moving them ahead ten, twenty paces at a time then let them adjust? If we're a bit off course they'll soon get back on it!"

Harry banged his forehead with the flat of his hand and groaned. "Why didn't you think of that an hour ago!"

Hermione huffed, "Oh, I'm so sorry, but it's not as if I've had a chance to read a book on this, is it?"

"Hermione, one day you'll be _writing_ the book," said Ron.

As they moved along, she pondered that thought. Perhaps it would be best if wizardkind never knew that non-being was accessible. There must be an awful amount of material nobody wished to resurface...

A faint hissing sound on their right shook Hermione out of her reverie.

Harry ducked instinctively and whispered, "it's the demon!"

They seized Luna's sketch and Ron's coin and headed away from the sound.

"I told you it would track you, Harry. A demon homes in on its prey," said Hermione.

Ron suppressed a little squeak. "Then let's find Neville and get the hell out of this place."

He threw down his coin then raced after it the moment he saw which way it was heading. It was soon clear he was diverging more and more to the left from Harry and Hermione's path.

"Don't get out of sight, Ron!" Hermione raised her voice cautiously.

"Look, we can meet back at the plinth," said Ron, his voice getting fainter as he moved ahead and even more distant to the side of the others.

"Harry, you go with him," said Hermione, as a thought struck her. "You'll be even further away from the demon and it would have to cross my path to reach you. I can protect myself."

Reluctantly, he nodded. Hermione's use of the word 'prey' had unnerved him a little, but he was confident in his friend's power to avoid the demon even if she couldn't defeat it. He sprang off like a gazelle towards Ron while Hermione was left with her own thoughts.

 _Suppose they'd chanced across Neville snogging a streak of animated paint!_ The more she pondered that horrifying vision though, the more she recalled how unlikely it was that McGonagall could have vanished a character out of a painting. _Yet Neville had been so sure that's what she'd said..._

On and on travelled Hermione, using the sketch to briefly point the way then snatching it up and bounding forward in greater and greater leaps to who knew where? Off to her right she sensed rather than heard movement. Was the demon trying to cut them off? Ahead was what might be a small wood. If she could reach it in time she might not have to drain her precious magic.

Driving herself recklessly faster she soon found whenever she replaced Luna's page on the ground it angled more and more to the right; she was unconsciously biasing her sprints away from the creature. She curved right again, praying she could make cover before–

" _Girl..._ The voice was still faint but definitely nearer. She hurdled a huge fallen bough that appeared to have been cut from the Whomping Willow – had Hagrid been pruning–?

Down she crashed, her robe caught in its branches. A guttural bellow alerted her to the danger and she tore herself free.

Closer! Closer! Almost there! Not bothering to place Luna's paper sketch any longer, for closing behind was the noise of pursuit, she raced the final hundred yards.

Despair! What had seemed from afar to be almost a forest was an extensive thicket blocking her escape with its dense tangle of cuttings, bramble thorns, logs, felled trees, and worse: Venomous Tentacula! Yet there could be no stopping an immaterial girl who also turned herself invisible as she entered the treeline and zigzagged right.

The accumulation of years of Hagrid's forestry debris would not stop the demon entering either. Had she been spotted? Daring to look back through the tangle, she glimpsed it rushing at the wood – as menacing as Ron had described. The former hound had now distended its massive jaws and was half upright, an oversized, stocky raptor with a mesh of hooked teeth and sabre claws that scrabbled over and clung to the endless midden below it.

CRASH!

Despite its supernatural origins, the beast was still semi-physical and, unlike Hermione, had to force its way into the thicket, worming, merging, else raking and slashing aside timber as if it were tall grass. The little girl, however, was able to speed away for a while, gaining a head start while her magic lasted, unseeable and silent. Only when the sound of pursuit faded did she slow to test her direction.

The little paper had unfurled slightly now and Luna's sketched Macedonian Limpet gremlin, though unmoving in this copy, seemed to shake its screwdriver at her menacingly. Winded, Hermione had no smiles left in her. Magic depleted too, she waited for the page to progress along the ground while she wondered how on earth she could proceed.

Unfortunately, even the ball of paper could make no significant headway. She had stopped in a narrow pocket literally between a bony rock and a hard place: the carapace-like bark of an uprooted Wiggentree. The story was that touching its trunk gave protection against dark creatures, though she wasn't about to test it. Also, the magical rowan would still be guarded by Bowtruckles – that she knew for sure – so she dare not disturb it lest they attack. On either side of her were dense bramble choppings that had somehow implanted themselves and continued to grow into a hopeless tangle. There was no way out until her magic recovered at least a little.

Hermione stuffed Luna's sketch deep into her enchanted bag and her hand bumped across the edge of something hard and red; she wondered what it was.

" _Granger..."_ came a faint hiss from within the snarled vegetation.

Twisting around she saw nothing, but heavy vibrations were coming through her surroundings. The beast had worked out who she must be!

"RIDDLE, YOU PIECE OF HALF-MUGGLE FILTH, WHY DON'T YOU JUST DIE!" she screamed in desperation, for she sensed her hour might have come again.

There was a pause in the ground's shudderings. She noticed again the hard corner of the red object against the hand still plunged inside her bag, but her mind was being numbed by a growing panic.

" _That's not you is it...? not the same pathetic, feeble Mudblood I once knew..."_ came the hiss – closer now, and she, near-defenceless against the probing of her mind. " _Ah, I see your secret! It was you that vanished me to this wasteland! Impressive. And you that..."_

There was more silence for a short while. Hermione squirmed. She whimpered. She felt giddy with fright at the possibility of losing her soul. Stampeded into clutching at any straw, she finally recalled what the hard red object in her bag was: the debt token from the Zabini family in its leather case. The girl had never tried the great knife; might it be enchanted?

" _...you that brought about my death. Your last breath that lifted the butterfly in my youth. ... Yes, everlasting suffering spans even the twists of Fate and I know it all at last. Astonishing magic... but it will not save you now. Your soul will join Potter's in the withering depths while I–"_

"NEVER!"

Swish! Hew! Chop! Bracing her side against the Wiggentree, the closest knotty stems became as butter before the knife's blade and she was free! Onward again, the bewitched dagger cut a path more swiftly than the still-immature demon could hope to match despite its razor claws!

"AAAHH!" came the cry from not far behind her.

As she escaped the far side of the strange wood, Hermione almost smiled. The Bowtruckles would irritate and might even delay the creature a little too. She did not need to check Luna's guiding sketch. Neville could never have come this way. Likely she had passed him too far to his left. She veered right along the forest edge and back around its far side at the first chance.

.

A Sorry Picture

Hermione found Neville on his knees within a tall, shuffling labyrinth of stinking, disgusting garbage piles. He appeared lost. In his hands he held a small painting at which he was staring forlornly. For a moment, Hermione thought it must be of the girl he'd befriended, but the person in this portrait was that of a young woman.

"Who comes?" the painted lady asked softly.

Neville looked round but showed no reaction when he saw who it was. His eyes were dead.

"Snape did this." He held up the picture briefly. "Vanished her during one of his tantrums. Can you take her back with you? She's lonely."

"Have you not found...?"

He shook his head mournfully. "Lady Cynthia agrees with you. You can only paint over a portrait else vanish the whole thing, frame and all. Princess Etherea's empty frame is still back in Hogwarts."

Hermione had no answer. She waited, giving him time, then said, "We have to go, Neville."

"What for?" He didn't look up again. "What's the point?"

Her heart sank. "Bring Lady Cynthia yourself if you care about anyone at all. I won't help you." She began to walk away. "Your friends need you desperately, Neville, even if you don't want them. We've risked our lives to try to save you."

That stirred him at last. He dragged himself up and followed her, the portrait cradled in one arm.

"Child," said Lady Cynthia now she had a better view of Hermione, "you're sorely injured!"

Hermione glanced down at herself. Her robes were badly torn and spotted with blood from the many scratches and cuts she had sustained in her flight. "I was pursued through a thicket..."

Startled from his melancholy, Neville cried, "Merlin! I'm sorry, Hermione! I didn't notice. Can't you...?"

"Healing will have to wait. The demon will target Harry and we must hurry!"

Their pace accelerated, Neville firmly by her side once again, his wand out ready and a more steely look in his eyes.

 _When the going gets tough..._ Hermione nodded to herself, _he sure gets going!_

.

Adrift

Guided by one unusual cluster of grey specks that Hermione had observed earlier in the sky and which she called 'North', and by placing a Knut on the ground, both of which agreed with her own estimate, she and Neville had high hopes they were on the right heading. They kept low – that is, within the cover of the deepest ruts and alleys between the trash heaps.

"Listen!" said Neville in a strained whisper. At the end of their last gliding leap, they paused in their moon-strides, heads cocked on one side. The faintest clinks of metal could be heard ahead, very reminiscent of the echoes in the marble hall at Gringotts.

"Money!" declared Hermione, and took off again, weaving and gliding amongst piles of cardboard on one side and squirming string on the other. "So much string! Who'd have–"

Ahead was a deep arch, almost a tunnel, between two hillocks of scrap iron that were toppling towards each other.

"Quickly!"

They burst through into a deep crater formed within merging metallic debris.

"HERMIONE!" It was Harry, using the broom to sweep coins in towards a central pile. Upon that heap was Ron, crouched up to his elbows in a mound of golden Galleons as high as their heads. "We found the treasure!" Harry plunged the broomstick deep so it stuck up like an explorer's flagpole.

The exultation of reunion was brief. A mighty roar from above alerted them to the demonic Voldemort claw-gliding over a high cliff of old entangled railings on the far side of the depression.

"THIS WAY!" shrieked Hermione, dragging Neville back along the route they'd come through the collapsing archway-tunnel.

Harry took off after them like a greyhound out of its trap. Ron hesitated but a moment, a moment full of dashed hopes, reluctance, and despair, then, his long legs kicking up sprays of gleaming coins, he seized the broom and sprinted after his friend.

"GET!" he screamed, his spell hurling the broom forward towards Harry.

They'd never trained with a single broom but Harry knew 'GET' always meant a pass, and his fist curled to receive as he twisted in his run. Over the broom handle went Harry's next stride, more by luck than judgement, and he was riding!

But Ron was dead in the water and could only dive as the creature's curse smashed into the gold pile blasting it and Ron forward in a painful sandblast of coins to collide with Harry's back. The broom cracked slightly as their combined weight broke it on the trail. How they both clung on even they would never know, but a single accelerating swerve along the ground had brought them rapidly to the tunnel entrance.

Wrong-footed, the reptilian behemoth fumbled awkwardly around to cut them off outside, only to glimpse Neville emerging at the other end of the arch. Twisted fencing yielded and snapped within the creature's grip and, caused to stumble, its fiery blasting spell seared over the boy's shoulder and engulfed the tunnel's edge, ripping and collapsing the already-weakened structure.

"Hermione!" cried Neville, seeing her white face being submerged by sharp, rusted jags and spikes of warped steel with Harry and Ron coming into visibility behind her inside the tunnel.

Sensing his real prey was now trapped, the demon ignored Neville and groped madly to circle around once more, intent on descending to meet Harry forced back into the crater. Hermione was faster and more agile. Immaterial once more, she burst _outwards_ through the iron walls in full flight, pulling Ron and Harry with her to rejoin Neville outside.

"Bombarda Maxima!" was her cry, and the spell struck the demon from behind evoking a dreadful shriek from the beast as the debris to which it clung was shattered. Yet, unharmed, the creature, one fist still gripping the rim of the ruined crater, scurried to face about so it could retaliate.

Hermione gasped as realisation dawned. "Nothing's holding it down! There's _NOTHING_ to hold a demon down!"

"Relashio!" Her spell hit the beast directly between the eyes.

For one second nobody moved.

A cruel smile creased the awful jaws of the dead-but-deadly Voldemort as he hissed, " _I cannot be harmed by such as you."_

"WANNA BET?" Ron's wand was pointed not at the beast but at the remains of the crater rim to which it clung. "Relashio!"

The entire wall exploded away from Voldemort's grip and the four children had to quickly cast their best shields. The demon hovered, its limbs flailing in the air. Then it began to rotate and drift like a spacewalker whose tether had snapped. " _Cannot... perish..."_

"Bite me!" cried Ron, exulting with bravado. "Oh dear, you can't can you?"

Enchanted leathery ropes snaked out from the creature but as they snagged the remain debris, all four youngsters cast severing spells and Voldemort screamed his fury at them. Again he tried – with the same result. Upward floated the helpless raptor-beast, twirling sickeningly, clutching at nothing, wailing in realisation at its inevitable doom in a pitiless sky.

"What if it morphs wings?" said Neville. "It's already grown a lot from when it was like a gremlin."

"We'll be long gone," said Hermione, taking out Luna's sketch; it had served its purpose well. Harry instinctively snatched it out of the air as she threw it away. She amplified her voice with a Sonorous charm and shouted a taunt upwards, "It's failed its task and will soon be swallowed back to more terrible depths of suffering."

A howl of misery was heard from the departing Voldemort.

.

The Spoils

"Come on," said Hermione, "let's not dally."

"But..." said Ron, gesturing to the shifting dunes of the crater walls.

"Sorry, we have to go," said Hermione, winking sideways at Harry and Neville.

"I hate being poor," said Ron morosely, counting the few coins he'd clutched briefly into his far-too-small pockets.

"Well then..." said Hermione, and transfigured broken railings into a lengthy stepladder over the crater rim. She threw Ron her beaded bag. "Best get shovelling before the whole mountain closes in."

Ron's face lit up and, snatching the bag he bounced up the ladder. "Come on! There's enough for all!"

The metal debris heap was not at all a mountain nor was the pile of Galleons an infinite fortune, but the four of them scooped what they could into the bag which, though magically extended, still had its limits. Ron couldn't stop beaming at everyone.

Harry tried to bring him down to Earth. "Remember a lot of this is probably fake Leprechaun gold."

"Yeah, but look at all the Knuts and Sickles," said Ron. "They must be real. Whoever heard of Leprechaun silver or bronze? So if that's any guide then I reckon quite a bit of the gold is real."

For the first time in her memory the beaded bag was filled, having absorbed well over a tenth of the entire heap. Ron looked wistfully at the remainder, then shrugged his shoulders. "Even quarter-shares, it's still a nice nest-egg."

Harry said, "Ron, it was your idea, and you found it..."

"How about we three share half and Ron keeps the other half," suggested Hermione.

"Done!" cried Ron, grabbing another handful and cramming it in his last free pocket.

The four friends picked their way back towards their starting point, keeping one eye out for the plinth, and another up to the demon which was now but one more speck in the grey void above.

"Wait till I tell–!" Ron's face fell. "I can't, can I? I can't tell anyone."

Hermione shook her bushy head. "I suggest you find something in which to invest most of it. You can draw out a modest amount annually and no one the wiser. This adventure has given me an idea actually, to help the cause of Magical-Muggle interaction."

"The what?" said Harry.

Hermione sighed. It wasn't a bad time to start gradually introducing them to some of her ideas to save society. "I know a few wizards who are starting to share ideas with Muggles."

"But that's illegal, isn't it?" said Neville, who up to now had remained within his usual silence.

"The Statute of Secrecy provides for the registration of selected Muggles to know about magic – my parents for example, and did you know the Muggle Prime Minister knows about us? And there are quite a few high-level civil servants and military kept informed too."

"Really?" said Ron disinterestedly as he rubbed one of the Galleons on his sleeve and stared at it, daring it to vanish.

"There's the plinth," said Harry, pointing ahead.

Hermione stared forward at the mystery of the accumulation of matter where existed the Room of Requirement in the real world. What was its secret? How was it vanishing and unvanishing objects in and out of true being? And how had she herself vanished the demon when no other spells worked upon the beast?

As they drew nearer, a thought occurred to her. What if the Vanishing spell never worked directly on objects? It was a radical idea. Suppose that group of Transfiguration enchantment interacted with non-being while the object was merely an indirect target, drawing it back or forth as required, else giving it form where there had been none. That would preserve the constancy of substance and explain how non-being had swallowed up the demon without any magic being directly applied to the beast. She itched to start making notes.

When they finally gathered at the point where they had first arrived, Hermione said, "I've decided to vanish us altogether. I've got the feel for this now – how it affects my magic – and I'm sure I can do this in one. But Harry, you may have to carry me inside the Room when we arrive – I'm not sure."

He nodded.

The four crouched close together with her wand held out pointing back at them. She took a few moments to gather her intensity and focus, there being no chance of a second attempt if she failed. Then...

"Evanesco!"

So absorbed was she in fact that she did not notice their environment: it hadn't changed – and neither had her magic. "I'm not even... weak." She sounded puzzled. Then it dawned on her; they were still beside the plinth in non-being.

"Merlin... we're stuck..." murmured Ron, who was the first to speak after a shocked silence.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I felt sure..." began Hermione. "I thought it would work. I was sure it would..." She faltered then snapped at herself. "I should have been more careful." She rose to her feet. "I should have done tests! Why didn't I test the theory first! I just... assumed it would reverse vanish us."

"It's my fault," piped up Neville. "I rushed you. I shouldn't have – aaaaahhh – why didn't I listen to you in the first place! You've always been right."

"But the demon's done it," said Harry. "It's sent stuff back to Reality, so it must be possible."

Hermione turned to him, mouth working openly, trying to form words. "That's right..."

"So what did the demon do to unvanish that table into the Great Hall? And the cauldron that hit Stebbins?" said Ron.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know." As she paced, she found herself staring at the plinth of Room debris. "Is that one of our training dummies wedged in there?" She pointed.

"You're right," said Harry. "I can even see where Terry scorched its arm off, remember?"

Hermione looked at him. "What was it you said before – you know, when you were telling me through the mirror about this pillar? Something about the Room conjures and disappears everything inside it lots of times?"

"And it unvanishes stuff over and over in the same place," said Harry, then added, "theoretically."

"It conjures everything... That's it! I bet that's it!" Hermione's eyes had brightened. "It recycles not with just the vanishing spell but using indirect conjuring from here!"

"Worth a try," said Ron. "Conjuring is harmless enough so long as you don't make two of all of us."

"There's a general conjuring spell," mused Hermione half aloud, trying to remember. "It's never used. McGonagall always said even she didn't understand it because it's not a specialised form like _Aguamenti_ or _Incendio_ nor does it name what you're conjuring like some spells. Using it seems to do nothing..."

She put a hand over her mouth, staring into the distance and thinking hard.

"I bet it's a pointing spell like Gemino!" she suddenly cried, startling Ron who dropped his coin and ran after it. "Well, don't you see?" she said to the puzzled frowns of Harry and Neville. "It makes no sense in normal conjuration to point at anything unless you're duplicating it. But if you're conjuring something new then there's nothing to point at until it appears!"

She grabbed Harry excitedly by the arms. " _That's_ what the Room of Requirement is doing, I'm sure of it. And _that's_ what I'm going to do!"

"Whatever you decide is fine by me, Hermione," said Harry.

They all looked at each other then nodded in unspoken agreement before crouching down closely together again.

"Conjuro!" affirmed Hermione, with her wand pointing back at their tight huddle, and her intention firmly held in her mind.

That took the wind out of her sails. Down she went like a sack of wet fish.

"Hermione!" cried Harry. "We're back! We're back to Reality!"

"Harry Potter!" A commanding tone boomed from nearby. "What are you and your friends doing here in the castle at this time, may I ask?"

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I'm making good progress and have even made a start on Book 2 which will be called Hermione Granger and The Gates of Life. I've worked out the complete backbone design of this (which of course is Year 2 at Hogwarts) and there are some nice twists and turns. Friendships will deepen and there'll be early suggestions of partnerships too. Look forward to the start of that in a few weeks!_ :)

 _DarkHeart81 raised an interesting question about conjuring food. In canon, food cannot be conjured but it can be magically transferred from somewhere else such as when food is moved from the Hogwarts kitchen up to the Great Hall for each meal. I generally try to stay with the general rules of the original books in my fics._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	49. 1:A New Life

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. She vanished a demon which then began hurling back other vanished objects from non-being. While trying to locate the demon with a two-way mirror, Neville was also vanished but Hermione and friends save him and banish the demon (and bring back some vanished Galleons!). Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 49**

 **A New Life**

* * *

.

Back To Reality

"Hermione!" cried Harry. "We're back! We're back to reality!"

"Harry Potter!" The commanding tone was Professor Dumbledore's. "What are you and your friends doing here in the castle at this time, may I ask?"

"Uuh..." "Erm..." "Uumm..." The four fidgeted for a few moments then Harry cried, "The gremlin, sir!" He pulled out the sketch which he'd snatched out of the air when Hermione had thrown it away. "We didn't think Professor McGonagall completely believed us so we thought we'd uumm..."

"Give it one last search ourselves!" said Hermione from the shadows where she'd repaired her robes then staggered to her feet with Harry's help, and surprisingly not as weak as she'd feared.

"With what success?"

A ruckus – a to-ing and fro-ing far off in the building – distracted Hermione for a moment.

Harry said, "We think we might have destroyed it! We uuh... we all tried our vanishing spells, you see. We'd been practising..." He held out his hand.

Dumbledore took the page copied from the diary and after smoothing it out, studied the drawing carefully through his half-moon spectacles. "Remarkable! A skillful rendering by...?"

Harry began, "Nev–"

"–Never in Hogwarts, sir," Hermione cut in quickly. We mmm... owled a friend at er... another school."

The castle trembled slightly to the noise of several doors being slammed and angry voices. Dumbledore turned his head towards the top of the stairs. "It would seem that Hogwarts is jealous – and with good reason," he added, tapping the picture. "She has an astonishing talent."

" _She,_ sir?" said Hermione.

"Well, it would appear to be by the hand of a girl, wouldn't you say?" He folded over the paper. "Would this... _other_ school be...?"

"Beauxbatons, Professor," said Hermione, warily.

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Now that is _really_ interesting... By chance their Headmistress was in touch with me recently."

"The school, sir?"

"Mmm... yes, Beauxbatons... It's wonderful how they've advanced don't you think?"

"Beauxbatons?" Hermione repeated with a frown. The Headmaster had seemed bemused, distant, and she was no longer sure of the true implication of his words.

"May I keep this? As a souvenir?" said Dumbledore. "I'd like a few mementos to remember things by."

Harry and Hermione shared a puzzled look.

"Come, you cannot remain here. You may use the Floo in Professor McGonagall's office." He walked slowly off along the corridor, giving the stairwell a wide berth.

"Thank you sir," said Harry, "but isn't _your_ office much nearer if we–?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Alas, my replacement has caused some difficulty with access."

"Your replacement!" spluttered Harry. "But–!"

"It has been said that these days I am less... _rigorous_ than perhaps I ought to be."

"You're leaving Hogwarts?" cried Hermione.

"It would seem so. The Ministry–"

"Oh, no!" said Hermione.

"Regrettably, yes." He eyed her carefully. "There may be a few changes around here when the new term begins." Dumbledore paused as they reached a bend in the corridor. "I should warn you that your self-help group might be uumm... _compromised."_

"Who snitched!" Ron snapped in disgust.

"Snitched? Ah... that would be... Professor Quirrell who uuh... _inadvertently_ snitched." A thin smile crossed his lips briefly. "However, I do have some good news – for Harry, at least. Cadence will be home this evening."

"Cadence, sir?" frowned Harry. "I don't–"

"Your new sister, Harry. She and your mother are doing fine. Sirius is somewhat flustered though." He chuckled softly.

"I have a sister..." murmured Harry, half to himself as he absorbed the reality of the long-awaited event. "Hermione, I've got a sister!"

"Perhaps hush our wanderings while we pass this side turn," murmured Dumbledore, "Even whispers can carry far along these corridors. He patted the wall affectionately. "Coins chinking in pockets... things like that."

Ron and Harry stared at each other and clutched at their robes to dampen the sound.

"Sir...?" said Hermione. "Are you... on the run?"

"'On the run'? Bless me, yes, I suppose I am. 'On the run'... well, I never. Thought I'd take one last look around the place before I'm... ejected."

He halted abruptly at the top of the far stair. "Here we are. Please descend and use Professor McGonagall's floo – the Professor is away in Hogsmeade for the duration."

"And you, sir?" said Hermione, turning back as she followed her friends down. But there'd been a golden flash and Dumbledore was gone. She could hear Ron muttering on the steps below:

"Think he sounded a bit... distracted?"

Harry nodded, though his mind was elsewhere too. "Neville, you coming over to see my new sister?"

"Another day, Harry. I need some time... alone."

"Hermione?"

"Yes, thank you, I'll come."

Ron said, "Here's your bag, Hermione. I've been thinking about what you said – can you really invest all my share for me, except for a bit, I mean." He patted his pockets.

"Mine too," said Harry.

"Neville?" said Hermione.

"Yeah, whatever you think best."

.

Waste Not, Want Not

"If you please, Master Harry!" cried Kreacher as the threesome came tumbling out of the fireplace, one after the other. Harry was already racing to get out the kitchen door.

"Sorry, Kreacher." He paused while the elf removed ashes from his robes and off the floor. "Are they here yet?"

"Within the hour."

"We've time to sort out the uuh... you-know-what!" cried Ron. "Where, Harry?"

"My room. Come on."

They scurried upstairs and soon Hermione was summoning the Galleons out of her bag onto the carpet accompanied by a lovely metallic whooshing sound. They'd retrieved barely a tenth of the total heap yet it was formidable – for a few moments only. Very quickly every trace of Leprechaun gold faded away and the pile sagged to a fraction of its size, and Ron's spirits with it.

"It's still quite a lot, Ron," said Harry. "How much do you think, Hermione?"

She shrugged. "Well over fifty – maybe close to sixty. That's nearly thirty thousand for you, Ron, and perhaps ten for each of us three including Neville."

She conjured some sturdy moneybags and they watched the streams of gold flowing into them. "So, if you're all agreeable, I know just where to invest this and give us all a nice annuity."

"Where?" said Ron and Harry together.

"My friends, we're going into the Magical-Muggle waste disposal business."

.

Love's Aura

While the boys were yet pondering their new status as secret investors, a commotion was heard from downstairs.

"They're early!" yelled Harry, dashing for the door. "MUM! DAD!"

He stood for a moment at the top of the stair. The hall lights below were still dim as afternoon was only now yielding to evening, but he thought he saw a strange glow from the figures below.

Sirius's voice boomed out with a great deal of eagerness and pride. "Harry! All of you. Come down."

And down they came.

"May we formally introduce to you all... Cadence Hermione Black."

Hestia smiled at Hermione's gasp. "And we want you to be her godmother too, Hermione."

The three youngsters eyes widened at their first sight of the tiny baby fast asleep in her mother's arms.

With the back of his hand, Ron wiped a sniffle from his nose. Hermione glanced at him curiously.

"She's beautiful lit up like that," whispered Harry.

"You can still see it?" said Sirius, softly.

"You see a light, Harry?" said Hestia.

"What is it, Mum?"

"What do you see?"

"Sort of very pale golden orange pink and then a lovely blue fading to black."

Hestia led them through into the main living room where Sirius helped her to her favourite chair. "Cadence was born with an aura but it gradually waned from our sight after the birth. Your young eyes must be sharp if you can still see it."

"It is very faint," admitted Harry.

"The magic you kept pouring into me last summer..." Hestia was looking at Hermione. "What was it?"

Hermione flushed and shook her head. "Just that healing spell I told you about. Repeated over and over whenever I could."

"And...?"

"Magic's all about intent and emotions."

"And...?" persisted Hestia.

"Love. It was love with which I powered the enchantment."

Hestia reached out. Hermione took her hand.

.

Ron's Heart

Hermione only planned on stopping at Grimmauld Place for one night but she stayed for two.

"You'll be here longer though, Ron?" Harry said with a hopeful tone, as he played his last Exploding Snap card onto the bedroom carpet.

"Yeah, till the start of Easter proper, then I'm going with Mum and Dad to see Ginny again." There was an air about him of...

"Making the best of a bad job," said Hermione, rather flatly. "What is it with you, Ron? Jealous that Harry's got a sister now?"

Ron glared. Harry looked startled. "Hermione! What a thing to say!"

"I am NOT jealous!" spluttered Ron. "It's just that..."

Harry cursed as the card he'd played failed to explode. "Ron, you've got a HUGE family!"

"Yeah, well... seemed like it."

"What do you mean?"

"Bill and Charlie are gone and we hardly see them."

"So?"

"Percy's... well, Percy is remote even when he's there and the twins... they have each other."

"What are you getting at? It's not like they've all disappeared!"

"Yeah, well, you don't know what it was like as kids. We were all together, all family. Everyone was always there – all around us. But the others were significantly older. Me and Ginny... we were closer in age. Look, it didn't matter then that she was a girl. We did everything together, played together."

Hermione smiled. "You old softy. I never would have believed it. Ron is missing his baby sister."

"Oh, shut it."

She stared at him, thinking hard. "You're not thinking of...?"

"Might have."

"My God, it's that money isn't it?"

Harry yelped, "What is? Wh–?"

"He's been thinking of moving to Beauxbatons, haven't you, Ron?"

Ron shook his head, confused. "The idea did enter my head."

Harry leapt up, his foot accidentally kicking playing cards in all directions – some snapping and cracking angrily at the interrupted play. "But we're your FRIENDS!"

"I only said I'd thought about it. There's no way I'm actually going to stay there."

Harry puffed out air, trying to grapple with what he'd heard.

Hermione summoned the cards back into their packet. "Ron, everything changes in time. Your family's expanding outwards and your relationships will too. You won't lose them; you'll adjust to the bigger picture. Family and friends aren't about competing to _get_ ; they're about giving. _Give_ Percy a few minutes of your time. Write to Bill and Charlie now and again."

"I guess..."

.

Barty's Bombshell

Barty Crouch strode into Mike Worthing's study. "Is she here, yet?"

"Not yet," said Mike, glancing at his watch. It was almost the hour.

Barty nodded to the other couple at the table: Jop and Vera Gair, but Vera in particular. "Stories we're hearing about Hogwarts – I can't help wondering if–"

Hermione came through the wall, unnerving Mike. "Don't keep doing that!" His expression of alarm lapsed into a grin. "Good to see you, Rosie."

Vera stood up and held out her arms. "It's been months."

"Well, you know, schoolwork and so on." Hermione gave her a hug.

"And was that the demon – all that trouble reported about the school?" said Crouch.

"No worries. I dealt with it."

"You _dealt_ with it... a demon." Crouch sank into a chair at the table and began running his hands through his hair.

"So, straight to business," said Hermione, checking her personal organiser, "Jop, can you confirm your team are supporting Arthur Weasley's Muggle Protection Act?"

"Indeed we are, Rosie. That's one of our top priorities this year."

"Good man. It should go through but keep an eye out for any smear campaigns against the Weasleys."

Hermione pulled out the moneybags and thumped them down heavily on the tabletop before pushing them towards Mike. There was no doubt in anyone's mind what they were.

"This is for...?" said Mike.

"How's the Magic-Muggle networking coming along?" said Hermione.

"Good. Very good. We've contacts at high levels. The main infrastructure we've named _Techgic_ and it's protected by the magical section of British secret services. Everything goes through Techgic and no questions asked. Industry might be curious about _how_ supplies were produced and at relatively low cost, but so long as they get what they want, they accept that the wherewithal is classified."

Crouch growled, "But surely in time they'll wonder wh–?"

"–Techgic is gradually being regarded as an organisation of extremely advanced scientists and technicians. Currently, it's applications we're still short of. Sub-manufacturing components is growing, but slowly." Mike weighed one of the moneybags in his hands.

Hermione said, "There's around sixty-thousand Galleons there. Not much of a startup for what I have in mind but the Muggles can add that times ten to begin research and development. Times hundred again when they realise the enormous potential."

"The 'thing' being?"

"Garbage disposal and recycling. It's going to be big, really big. Radioactive waste is a huge problem already, and ordinary waste landfills are getting full. And if there's one thing that magic can do really efficiently, it's separating, transfiguring, and vanishing. I envisage huge bland processor-containers – rubbish in, much-reduced, recyclable rubbish out, and nobody the wiser. In time, these will also have spin-offs in global defence. What better shields than such enchantments scaled up nationally? And Mike, when that time comes, caution your developers to focus only on providing passive defence, never weaponry. Have you rune experts on your staff?"

"Only a few. But they're the best."

"You'll need more. Maybe fifty within a year or so. I visualise that–"

"Fifty! How in Merlin's name am I suppose to get–"

"–Most of the work will be low level: maintaining rune efficiency and so on. Recruit as many as you can. There are some quite good seventh-year students leaving Hogwarts this summer. Push the Headmistress to impress upon them the importance of N.E.W.T.S to their prospects."

Crouch snorted. "Like she'd be any encouragement..." he muttered.

Hermione frowned. "Professor McGonagall has always supported serious students in every house, especially when considering career choices."

It was Crouch's turn to frown and his eyebrows twitched several times before he spoke. "McGonagall? Who's talking about her? I mean the new headmistress who's replacing Dumbledore – ah, perhaps it's not been announced yet."

"Who?" Hermione suddenly felt sick to her stomach. "Who, Barty?"

He grimaced before he spoke, as if that was the only way the name could be spat out between his gritted teeth. "Umbridge. It's Dolores Umbridge who is now Headmistress of Hogwarts."

.

Hatching An Easter Egg

Hermione brooded through Good Friday. She was still pensive on Easter Day. Umbridge must die. Slowly. The girl fantasised a dozen different deaths where Umbridge whimpered and begged for release but was mocked, scoffed at, poked with a sharp stick by a smirking schoolgirl topped by thick bushy hair. But how? Although the disposal of Umbridge had always been on 'the list', never had Hermione considered that the foul toad would be empowered over Harry again. It could not be allowed. Once in a lifetime was enough.

She glanced at her knuckles, visualising how Harry's had been permanently scarred by the woman's tortures. That. Was. Not. Going. To. Happen. Ever. Again! It was a mantra in Hermione's brain. A given. But how to do the necessary without warning dark forces there was a vigilante at large? Subtlety was needed. How to vanish a headmistress – not to mention the Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic himself – without anyone noticing. It seemed impossible.

Yet slowly she laid out her plan, and a sinister smile shaped itself on the face of Miss Hermione Granger.

.

The New Decrees

The return journey to Hogwarts was a weary one after the extended Easter break. Harry, supported by Hermione, visited every carriage as the Hogwarts Express steamed north, warning the Crestors not to antagonise the new Headmistress nor give her any excuse to dish out punishments, and that she would be dealt with in due course. Meanwhile, Crest meetings would take place as usual, and Hermione's potions class would continue, protected by the rules of the Founders themselves.

Despite trying to remain upbeat, as she and her friends sat down to dinner in the Great Hall, Hermione resigned herself to the expected monotony of Umbridge's opening address after the coming meal, and wondered not very convincingly to herself if she and her friends might instead take a few pies and potatoes, buns and butter-cakes, and sneak away while everyone else was eating – thus to avoid staying for the speech completely. It was not to be. Ron continued to stare gloomily at the still-empty dishes and plates, as did all the other hungry students. Whereas Dumbledore would have begun with the eating and ended with announcements, the new Head of Hogwarts made her priorities immediately clear.

"Hem, hem..."

With her wand, Umbridge tapped imperiously on the carved wooden arm of the Head's golden, almost throne-like chair – Dumbledore's chair. This was followed by a very strange sound, as if two little gloves were limply patting each other, and Hermione realised with a shock that Umbridge was clapping herself. A few first-years, uncertain what to do, instinctively took up the pathetic acclaim, and several Slytherins also applauded, then the timid ovation faded out as feebly as it had begun.

"Hem, hem..." She cleared her throat a second time, took a sip from a goblet, then began:

"Thank you so much, children," Umbridge simpered, "for that warm welcome. It is so lovely to be back at Hogwarts, and to see such happy little faces gazing up at me!"

Hermione glanced around. None of the faces she could see looked happy. On the contrary, they all looked rather taken-aback at being addressed as though they were five years old.

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!"

Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins.

"I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to borrow that cardigan," Parvati whispered to Lavender, and both of them lapsed into silent giggles.

Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again, but when she continued, some of the breathy girlishness had vanished from her voice. There was now a sharp edge to her tone and the words had a dull, learned-by-heart sound to them.

"First, we must apologise for the lax discipline of my predecessor under which you have all suffered for so long and that ended in such terrible, terrible tragedy. You will be pleased to hear that I have now remedied the problem and none of you are in danger any longer."

She released a little throaty squeak then paused and looked up with a silly smile on her lips, as though challenging Hogwarts to cast down the tiniest stone. Nothing happened. Umbridge made an open palm gesture which suggested she believed they all shared a mutual understanding.

"Over fifty new decrees will protect each and every one of you while also developing your character and promoting your welfare."

There was a murmur amongst the students but Umbridge ploughed on, "The most significant of these are as follows:"

Another sip of water.

"All meetings of three or more students must first be approved by myself or those I appoint. This especially includes so-called self-help cheat groups who wish to gain advantage over other students. The punishment for any infringements will be expulsion."

A louder murmur passed like a wave around the hall but subsided as students craned to hear more.

"All cheat books are banned for the same reasons and with the same punishment. Only authorised textbooks are allowed at Hogwarts."

There were gasps amongst the mutterings now. Hermione's gaze shot to Professor Snape. She'd taken no notice of him up to that moment but saw now that his face was a rigid stony mask of sneering contempt – and he was looking directly back at Hermione. There could be no doubt in her mind that it was he whom Umbridge had consulted when compiling her new decrees. This lifetime's Snape did not yet know Umbridge very well.

"All students will attend mandatory classes given by Hogwarts-appointed staff. Any infringers will be expelled."

A gleam lit up Snape's eyes that no statue could ever emulate.

Hermione was smiling and shaking her head at her friends and across to some of the Crestors who were looking their way, trying to catch Harry's or her attention. Not even Umbridge could overturn the Rules of the Founders, and especially not the appeal procedure.

She became aware that Ron was nudging her with his elbow, and she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, "Don't worry, she can't do this."

Another nudge, and something brushed her hand as it lay on the table. It was the multi-diary, and it was open at the latest page. There, in Luna's contrary style, though formed into a kind of headline was:

 _DAILY PROPHET SILENCED!  
THE HOGWARTS BOARD OF  
GOVERNORS SUSPENDED!_

Umbridge moved on. "Owl messages and other communications are banned. All messages in and out of Hogwarts will be submitted to my office for consideration..."

For several seconds, Hermione, distracted by Umbridge's ongoing drone, could not take in the significance of what she was reading. Then her face paled. There could be no appeal to the Board if its activities were completely frozen.

Harry was mouthing something at her. "Why'd they keep it secret? Why not announce about the Board if she wants to stop us?"

And Hermione knew as clearly and as immediately as Harry had asked the question. "She doesn't want to _stop_ us, Harry, she wants to trap and expel us."

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. Neville was observing but perhaps had not yet fully understood. Hermione wondered if she comprehended it all herself. Why had Fudge acted this way? In her former life, the Minister had been afraid that Harry's claim of Voldemort's return after the Triwizard Tournament was some kind of power play by Dumbledore, but with the dark wizard truly dead that could never occur in this lifetime. Perhaps the fear of Dumbledore had always been there, and the recent incidents at Hogwarts had given Fudge the opportunity he needed to sideline the headmaster once and for all.

Harry was saying to Ron, "We need to warn everyone – but quickly." He took out his charmed Galleon. "Hermione?"

After a second or two of frowning, Hermione whispered, "Yes, stop everything for the time being," and he acted instantly. On his Galleon, he tapped out a brief message with his wand: _change plan: no meets. no potions lessons. no books. do nothing for now._

Within moments there was a flurry of consternation and a flash of faces towards Harry from amongst a few students that even Umbridge could not fail to notice – yet the Headmistress could see no other cause than the impact of her own words. She smirked. "The complete list of decrees will be posted throughout the castle."

Umbridge sat down to digest the success of her talk, seemingly having forgotten no one had yet eaten, or perhaps not realising it was her duty to deliver a meal as well as a speech.

McGonagall looked at Flitwick and they exchanged a nod of some unspoken agreement. The small man, being less conspicuous, waved a hand, and the plates filled up with food. It was a grim feast.

.

Passive Non-Defence

Within twenty-four hours, the four youngsters had managed to separately inform Crest members of the details of the situation. Tutomees were gathered up and stored in Hermione's bag which was obscured by a substantial Notice-me-not charm.

Justin, in particular, was seething, but could see Hermione's reasoning that 'laying low' was the right course of action for the time being. Padma needed reassuring that she was even allowed to chat with her twin sister and was relieved to be reminded that talking was fine so long as there was no one else with them to form a group of three or more. All were looking to Harry to restore their way of life as soon as possible.

History was not quite the hell that Ron had anticipated. He was far enough ahead and so thoroughly grounded in the subject by the Witch Hazel illustration that even without the Tutomee he cruised Binns' first lesson after the Easter break. The Defence class was not so comfortable:

Professor Quirrell sat at his desk near-expressionless, though his demeanour seemed rather forced and the knuckles on the tightly-clasped hands on the desk before him were white. Several stacks of books pressed for space against his forearms. Beside the teacher stood the Headmistress.

"Come in, children, come in," she simpered. "We have good news for you today, do we not, Professor?"

Quirrell reluctantly inclined his head and opened his mouth but Umbridge continued, "The Ministry shall _never_ intrude into your normal routine other than to apply... _minor_ adjustments to match the changing circumstances. This is my faithful promise."

She paused for effect but was met with blank puzzlement.

"As I am sure you have all noticed in recent years, our strong Ministry has caused the gradual diminution of dark influences to such a point that we can safely say they hold no sway in current magical society at all. AT ALL," she repeated. "Indeed, Professor Quirrell here assures me that having spent an entire year researching this very subject, he found not one trace of any large, organised, criminal activity, isn't that so, Professor?"

"Yes, but–"

"And so," she swept on, taking a stride or two towards the blackboard, "we must all adjust with the times. Professor Quirrell will be teaching you the gentle art of non-aggression – if you would, Professor...?"

Quirrell rose to his feet, hovered the book stacks, and began to walk down the aisles between the desks, handing out one slender volume to each student. Hermione noticed he also gave each child a slow look as he passed but she could not interpret his expression. Was the stare a denial? A reassurance? Or a warning?

She accepted her copy but was none the wiser, other than perhaps Quirrell's special attention was meant as a point of personal contact – a distancing himself from the Headmistress. That pondering faded rapidly as she stared at the book cover:

Embossed in the dark blue leather was a young witch in a bright silver frock, skipping through a meadow and scattering daisies around herself in a very carefree manner. She waved at Hermione, pointed at herself then upwards at the book title and author:

 _Behavioural Hygiene  
By Flossom Lark_

The book fell open as Hermione's grip went limp, and her eyes flicked towards a few random sentences at the start of the first chapter:

 _Backtrack. Holdback. Pullback. Aggression is the cause of aggression. Do NOT be a cause!_

Dumbfounded, Hermione tried to compose her thoughts in a rational manner. Umbridge seemed to have excelled even her former self in the earlier timeline. Why? Was it a result of the Black Arc's low profile? It looked indeed as if Fudge was taking every advantage of the lull in dark activity coupled with Dumbledore's apparent weakness in order to strengthen his own position.

A screech of chalk startled everyone and drew their attention to the blackboard on which were appearing the words:

 _Attack? Alack! A lack is the best form of defence!_

The class was in shock. Those who knew nothing of Umbridge were wondering if a huge joke was unfolding while those who did know of her reputation felt their hearts sinking down into their boots. Hermione heard Harry stirring beside her but she'd primed all the Crestors to take no action no matter what.

But it was a non-member who spoke. "That makes no sense at all..." said Fay, hesitantly, but so clearly in the silence that everyone knew what she had said.

For a few moments one might have heard a pin drop, then Umbridge's rigid grimace softened into a weak smile. "Quite correct, Miss...?"

"Dunbar, Professor. I mean how–?"

"–Yes, Miss Dunbar, in an evil, violent society such as that endured by Muggles, these words would be very foolish, would they not? But in an advanced community governed by loving Magic, all things are possible. Might we have a volunteer so that I can demonstrate?"

A hand shot up so rapidly from amongst the group of Slytherins on the left that Hermione felt sure the request had been anticipated, even orchestrated.

"Yes, come forward, Mr...?"

"Nott, Professor, Theodore Nott." The tall, stringy boy walked confidently to the front of the class.

"We'll make this quite simple, though you will need some imagination," simpered the Headmistress. "I shall play a common thief, that rare opportunist who sadly might occasionally be tempted by the apparently weak. Your part, Mr Nott, will be as an innocent passerby always ready to emphasise your vulnerability by falling over in a tremble. Now, can anyone guess what might happen? Hint: it might not be your first thought."

A great deal of wide-eyed blinking swept like a fever across the astonished faces of the class. But Nott, showing no surprise whatsoever, sauntered to the side of the class then walked back whistling towards Umbridge. She raised her wand and her face adopted what, perhaps, she assumed was a really fierce expression. Ron sniggered but managed to keep it very soft.

As Umbridge lunged, Nott flung himself backwards, feigning surprise. He hit the ground so gently that Hermione was certain he'd cast a cushioning charm with his mostly-obscured right wand hand.

The Headmistress threw up her arms in mock distress and ran away a few steps in apparent confusion.

"Yes, as you all surmised, the villain, astonished by this unexpected turn of events, and seeing himself now the centre of attention in a street full of shoppers, had no recourse but to obey his cowardly instinct to flee."

Sally-Anne Perks, who had removed her reading glasses to observe the action, waved them towards Nott as he clambered to his feet. "But would the robber not simply steal his gold and _then_ run away?"

"He has no gold. Or perhaps a little, well-concealed. He gave the thief no incentive so the villain lost all motivation. What purpose could there be in attacking a penniless waif lying upon the ground? None at all."

Sally-Anne persisted. "But I heard coins clinking as Nott fell..."

"No. No, you didn't."

"This is ridiculous!" said Fay, rising to her friend's defence by slamming down the book she still held. The mouth of the girl on the cover formed a big round 'O' before she covered it with one dainty hand then scampered off to collect more flowers.

Umbridge cried, "Students will raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class. That will be ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Dunbar."

"But surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Dunbar?" asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but–"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defence in a passive, risk-free way–"

"What use is that!"

"Detention, Miss Dunbar! Clearly you need extra instruction on how to be docile enough to remain safe." Her anger quickly changed to a simper. "This is beneficial actually, dear. We all know that the Ministry does have every child's welfare close to its heart. You will find your manner much improved with extra guidance. Remember, everyone, I am your friend."

Hermione bristled. Fay was the girl who'd been frightened by a mouse in their dorm? Well, she was a Gryffindor after all, and since no one else had spoken up, any stout-hearted lion might be expected to step in to fill the vacuum. She studied the girl's face: pinched but resolute. _I promise you this, Fay, no one will face Umbridge's blood quill while I'm here! Not this time! Not ever!_

"Now wands away and line up everyone so we can practice your falls over and over until they are thoroughly natural, realistic, and... instinctive." Umbridge's voice faltered slightly as she turned her head away to correct an overheard conversation. "No, cushions will not not be required – they would make your fall look unnatural, wouldn't they?"

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _BrightSkywalker raised some interesting questions in reviews to Chapter 2 and 3. First, that the main villain of this story will be the prejudices of the magical world. Yes, but that's only part of it. Muggles have prejudices as well. Her task will be to unite them – or at least, enable them to partially interact such that they can help one another to harmonise and avoid global catastrophe. There will still be other individual villains as well. Second, Harry's personality is still courageous and noble but he's generally a happier individual. It will take him longer to mature – even at eleven he sounds younger than in the books and is guided by Hermione – but his leadership qualities are slowly emerging. Third, many things will remain the same: characters, political systems, Hogwarts, etc., so Hermione's knowledge of the future will still be very useful._ :)

 _With this fic well in hand and progressing virtually weekly, I've completed another short fic. It's a time twist story with Lily Luna Potter called 'Lily's Grandmother'._ :)

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	50. 1:Post-Haste

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. Hermione banished a demon that terrorised Hogwarts but Dumbledore was blamed and replaced by Umbridge. At Easter, Harry's baby sister Cadence was born. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 50**

 **Post-Haste**

* * *

.

Clipping a Wing

A small figure glided inward through the stone blocks of a tall tower and looked around. The space had once been a large and beautiful circular room, full of pleasant little sounds. The curving walls, originally covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses often snoozing gently in their frames, were no longer evident. Yes, the enormous, claw-footed desk remained, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, the Sorting Hat, but Fawkes' golden perch was gone along with every personal effect pertaining to the previous headmaster. Somehow the pleasantly-rounded chamber had been re-carved into harsh angles, thrusting its limits blindly in towards the single occupant: Hermione Granger, now solid yet still invisible and silent.

The once-warm wooden panelling had been painted a grotesque coral flush, even the parquet floor was replaced with a spiral of bricks in brash pink, and the books: many were the vacant spaces now. Whether Dumbledore had gained enough advance notice to hide them away or whether Umbridge had destroyed them, Hermione could not tell.

Every horizontal surface had been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicoloured kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Hermione stared at them, transfixed.

She shook herself. _To business!_

Out came her wand. The first spell was a protective warning; it would not do to be taken by surprise should the Headmistress return unexpectedly. After that she sat down to cast a series of more complex charms that would reveal any dark objects. Soon the room became brighter – save for one ominous patch around a box on the cabinet in which resided the Sword of Gryffindor.

It was an affront to place something so evil close to Founders' magic, as if a poisoner's bottle had been carelessly left on a church altar. Yet Hermione needed to be careful.

Remaining several paces away, she opened the box with her wand before moving closer. As expected, a large quill lay within and she picked it up to examine it further. The point was darkly stained. She imagined Harry's blood there, but of course it could not be. Yet someone had suffered. Surely even Umbridge had not so far had time to inflict this cursed quill on an erring student? More likely it had been used in the Ministry cells. Hermione shuddered. She knew what Umbridge was capable of. Hermione wanted to plunge the quill into the woman's black heart, to scratch out her eyes... She sighed and the feather ruffled as her breath passed over it.

More subtle magic she summoned because merely destroying the quill would not be enough. Hermione needed more time to reshape her plans. Umbridge had to be delayed, diluted, and hampered quietly until the right moment. The curse needed to be reformed, remoulded to a new purpose. There was a need for it to simulate its normal action while not actually causing harm. How long before Umbridge noticed was an unknown but Hermione had to try.

When she was done, the only noticeable difference was a single barb cropped from the tip; Umbridge's wing had been clipped – for the time being.

The girl had to take flight now too. She had arranged sufficient time for a very significant discussion with one of her Cathesis League members, Jop Gair, and did not wish to be late.

.

Using Percy

That evening, the three friends sat in the common room working on their homework, with Neville on their fringe – together yet not quite part of their intimacy. Ron had one eye on the portrait entrance, waiting for Fay Dunbar's return from her detention. Sally-Anne was in his line of sight too, clearly also waiting – though not with anything like the concern she would have felt if she had known Umbridge's true personality.

However, Hermione's attention was elsewhere in the common room and she watched eagerly as the most senior prefect remaining finally headed upstairs – but for how long? "Harry! Now's your chance! Before she gets back!"

The boy slid away from their table, striding out quickly down the middle of the common room. "Ah... erm... Percy. Have you got a minute?"

Percy looked up from his studies. "What is it, Harry?"

"Well, uuh... I've been thinking... it's about the Ministry appointing our new Headmistress."

"Yes, what of it?"

"Well, from what I hear, she's very strict – I mean _really_ strict."

"Quite right too," snapped Percy, he glared across at the twins who were dogfighting two paper planes up near the ceiling.

"We need to help her keep discipline."

Percy blinked. "Of course. I'm pleased you see it that way, Harry."

"So, you're the most senior one here at the moment, and the most respected in my opinion. Some of us were hoping you'd make an announcement, and, you know, caution everyone to toe the line because erm... Ministry discipline is not as lenient as how youngsters are used to Hogwarts being run. You're in the know here. You're privy to information the rest of us don't have, so I know you understand. Lay it on thick and I think everyone will listen to you."

Percy thought about this, frowning.

Harry said, "I mean, we don't want anyone to have to learn the hard way, do we? We don't want punishment for its own sake like a tribe of savages, do we? We want civility, respect and obedience."

"That's quite thoughtful of you, Harry," nodded Percy. "Leave it with me."

He began making notes on a separate piece of parchment and Harry withdrew.

"Well?" said Hermione.

"He's uuh..."

"He's what?" Hermione looked across to where Percy appeared to be still doing his homework.

"He's writing a speech, I think."

"What!" Hermione groaned and looked at her watch, then at the stairs – then at the portrait hole. "Well, it had better be a good quick one is all I can say."

"Your attention please!" came Percy's voice.

"Let's go outside to wait – it won't help if Fay returns whistling merrily in contradiction of Percy's talk. Oh, and Ron, bring Sally-Anne just in case."

"What?"

"It is my duty to advise you about..." But Percy's announcement faded from their ears as they hustled out of the door and walked to the end of the corridor.

"What's wrong?" said Sally-Anne.

"We're worried about Fay," said Harry. "We want to make sure she's alright."

Eyes bulged. "Why shouldn't she be? What have you heard?"

"Only that Umbridge can get right nasty," said Harry.

"We think Fay will be okay tonight," said Hermione, "but we all have to tread carefully." She looked around at their gathering. Neville hadn't come out. "Ron, you and Sally-Anne move over there a bit. I'll stay with Harry."

"Why?" said Sally-Anne.

"Three or more, remember?"

"You can't be serious about that rule, surely," said Sally-Anne.

"DEADLY serious," said Harry. "Umbridge is looking for any excuse to jump on us."

They did not have long to wait. Within fifteen minutes Fay came around the corner, humming to herself and her schoolbag swinging idly from one shoulder. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the reception awaiting her. "What?"

"You okay, Fay?" said Harry.

"Why, what's happened?"

"How'd the detention go?" said Ron.

"Detention? Nothing much to it really. I had to write loads of lines. It tickled the back of my hand a bit."

"What did you have to write?" said Hermione.

Fay grinned. "Defiance is the cause of disobedience and mutinous rebellion."

"Eh?" said Ron.

Hermione said, "Well that's a circular – no, I'm not sure that's even a circular argument! I mean, rebellion IS defiance, and so is mutiny. It's plain daft and says nothing."

"I know," sniggered Fay, and she started Sally-Anne laughing too.

"So you learned your lesson then?" grinned Harry.

"I was itching to forget it, but yes." She licked the back of her hand. "It doesn't tickle anymore." She sounded disappointed. "I swear it tasted like spearmint earlier."

"Well I never," said Hermione, with a wink at Harry.

When they re-entered the common room there were no paper planes in sight. Whatever he'd said, Percy had made a definite impression, even on the twins.

.

The Elephant in the Dungeon

"There's no way out of this then?" pleaded Harry, as he trudged alongside Hermione towards their first Potions lesson with Snape as their teacher since the previous November.

She shook her bushy head and glanced back at Ron and Neville who were keeping a few steps behind them; it was hard to tell which of them looked the most mournful.

They trooped into the classroom and heard Snape's voice entering behind them almost before they sat down. The sound of his footsteps ceased for several seconds before continuing and they knew he'd been sizing up who was here and who was not.

"Well, well, well, how the mighty have fallen." They could hear the sneer in the tone without looking round.

"Granger – you will sit right at the front next to Nott. Hands on the bench top at all times and eyes front always – no wriggling, no thumb-sucking, no nose-picking, no bottom-scratching, NO exceptions."

She let out the faintest breath of irritation but refrained from saying anything.

"SILENCE! Ten points from Gryffindor!"

Snape took up his place at the head of the class. "Longbottom – you will understudy Greengrass and obey her at all times. Weasley, you're with Goyle and be guided by him. As for Potter... a centre aisle seat I think, where I can keep an eye on you continuously."

He waved his wand and there was a loud crack like a whiplash making everyone jump. "There will be NO cheating and no disturbances in this class. Anyone observed doing so will face expulsion. Do. Not. Tempt. Me."

Hermione seriously wanted to magically blow a very loud raspberry off-stage but felt manacled. She could carry out wandless spells with ease but even the tiniest hand movement would look suspicious. In any event, it would attract a huge points deduction from Gryffindor whoever made the offending noise.

 _Relax, Hermione, you can do this. Bide your time._

She really wanted to look round to see how Neville was faring next to his childhood nemesis, but dare not. Hermione need not have worried because Neville scarcely thought of Daphne as an adversary anymore. His mind was elsewhere as ever.

"I don't expect you dunderheads will really understand the beauty of the softly shimmering fumes and the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. During the last lesson – which some of you considered yourselves too superior to attend – we discussed mind-affecting potions – as per the _recommended_ curriculum – so all of you _should_ know the sub-ingredients for minor memory and observation lapses." He glared at Neville's blank expression as he said this but Neville did not react. He simply didn't care anymore.

"The connection between observation and memory being...?"

Daphne's hand went up amongst several other Slytherins. No Gryffindor hands rose at all; they all knew there was no hope of gaining house points, right or wrong.

"Yes, Miss Greengrass?"

"Acute observations go directly into short-term memory and only continue into long-term if the person feels they are important."

"Correct, _feeling_ being the operative word. It matters not about actual importance unless you experience some degree of intensity – warranted or not. Ten points to Slytherin."

Ron's face had lightened. If Snape thought he and Harry wouldn't understand simple mind-affecting theory then he was in for a big surprise. It was not advanced work. Even a cheap Firewhisky could impede both observation and recall, whereas _restoring_ lapses was far more complex seventh-year magic. Besides, actually imbibing such potions was forbidden at Hogwarts. He smirked inwardly. This wasn't so bad without a Tutomee – at least for a few weeks maybe? And perhaps he could study ahead with the book in the evenings. Yes! He chanced a sideways glance at Harry who winked back.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for winking in class!" stormed Snape. "There will be no winking during my lessons no matter how much you are used to indulging your disgusting habits elsewhere. And if I suspected for one moment there might be an exchange of information then you would both be attending the Headmistress before you can say, _elephant._ Tell me, Potter, which animal never forgets?"

"Uuh... the elephant... sir?"

"Wrong! Ten points from Gryffindor."

Snape waved his wand and a recipe began writing itself on the blackboard. "As you should already know from your studies, _Stultitia,_ though complicated, has no effect if brewed perfectly, and is used only for calibration purposes when fine-tuning other potions in this group."

He paused, noting Hermione stiffen as she realised the implications.

"Collect your ingredients from the shelves – NOT you four! You will wait until our more serious students have returned and then you will each come up – one – at – a – time – to obtain your portions. Any excess left over at the end of this period must be stored in a dry flask for re-use or disposal – you have been warned! Time starts... NOW!"

Hermione fumed as the gloating Slytherins seemed to take ages counting out dung beetle legs one by one when a quick pinch from the tub would do. She then let Harry, Ron, and Neville proceed and return before she rose herself. As feared, there were not enough rat's eyes, and those that remained were mismatched. She held back a sigh.

"Hurry up, Granger! We haven't got all day! Five points from Gryffindor!"

Halfway through the processing she heard a flask break on the floor behind her and Goyle sniggered, "Oops!"

"Scrape up every particle of that residue, Weasley, you clumsy oaf!" said Snape.

"With...?"

"Your pestle and a sheet of parchment, idiot! You do know what a pestle is?"

"Yes, sir, but..." Ron knew a pestle was the worst implement anyone could use as a cleanup shovel but shut his mouth too late.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for being such a dolt."

 _Clean it after, Ron! For God's sake, remember to clean your pestle!"_ Hermione itched to look round. She sensed Snape's smirk as his attention burned into her face, sucking up her frustration like a rare wine at a banquet. _One day, Snape, one day you'll pay for all this, you miserable sick bastard!_

She well knew, of course, why Snape had chosen this particular potion for preparation. All the others in the same group were not allowed to be consumed for any reason – they were just too dangerous, but Stultitia was harmless when prepared correctly to be crystal clear. Severe cloudiness, however, rendered it very problematical.

As expected, her own brew turned out like wallpaper paste – there had been no way for her to adjust for the insufficiency of vitreous jelly from the eyeballs. Snape sneered his disdain as he passed her, huffed at Harry's almost-clear liquid but insisted the boy swallow one sickening teaspoonful – 'to prove it was within parameters' then stopped beside Goyle and Ron.

"What is this, Weasley?"

"Stultitia, sir."

"You've skimped on the warts to fake its transparency!"

"No, sir."

"Well then, a beaker must be safe if you're so certain."

Ron gasped. He knew his brew was correct but it would taste like goblin crotch sweat. "A full beaker, sir?"

"Well, what are you waiting for? Having doubts, Weasley? Anything to confess?"

"No, sir."

The students all held their breath as Ron pinched his nose and knocked back an entire beakerful as quickly as he could.

"Well?" said Snape, leaning over so closely his breath almost made Ron gag.

But the boy stared straight ahead, glassy-eyed. "Why am I... here?" He clutched at Snape's robes and shrieked, "WHO am I?"

Snape staggered back a step, alarm showed in his eyes. Then the moment passed. "DETENTION, Weasley! Do you take me for a fool!"

"Erm..." Ron grinned at Harry.

"And twenty points from Gryffindor for your impertinence!"

The end of the lesson could not come soon enough. As Hermione worked around, cleaning up her bench, she noted with satisfaction that Ron had used his ceramic pestle to finish the potion leaving the filthy wooden one aside. She had taught him well.

Despite Ron's temporary win over Snape, he and Harry stormed back to Gryffindor Tower, muttering and grumbling what they would like to do to the 'greasy-haired bat'. They threw the hated potions equipment into their chests and grabbed two Transfiguration textbooks ready for the afternoon, then Ron raced after Harry. He needed food desperately – something spicy to wash away the disgusting taste of Snape's breath in his mouth.

.

The Leak

Jop Gair had worked patiently behind the scenes for years, so one more hour in the bathroom that serviced the Minister's department was no particular hardship – not when the outcome might be very rewarding. As he waited he recalled the lengthy discussion he'd had with Rosie at the beginning of May, then pulled out her checklist. The preparatory groundwork had long since been accomplished: two years of feeding the Minister with useful inside information to soften him up and render him trusting and amenable to Jop's helpful ideas. Now crunch time was approaching. Could he pull it off?

The door opened and Jop busied himself by washing his hands for the tenth time, nodded at the staff member who ignored him and went about his business at one of the urinals. Jop took his time drying his hands manually then checked his hair carefully in the mirror.

"What a fusspot," said the mirror – also for the tenth time – but the visitor was already leaving. As he did so, someone pushed past him – it was Fudge at last. Jop moved over to the central urinal, hoping he could deliver.

"Gair." The Minister inclined his head the minimum polite amount.

"Minister," replied Jop. "Good work with Hogwarts. Hope you can see it through."

"See it through?" Fudge fumbled to part his robes as he took up position a respectable two places away.

"Before the adverse publicity, I mean."

Fudge frowned. He was trying to focus on two things at once which was not easy for him. Jop helped by continuing:

"The parents, of course. It was only natural they would find ways to communicate with the children. Still, I suppose their complaints can be put off for a while..."

Fudge blinked and splashed his highly-polished shoes.

Jop said, "You've handled Dolores well so far but now she may have too much power and as you know, she can be uuh... over-zealous."

"What do you mean? I have every faith in my Undersecretary."

"Ah, yes, but you've also acted sensibly to maintain a discreet distance just in case. I admire that." Jop had managed only a sprinkle but Fudge's attention was on the flattering words.

As he walked over to wash his hands once more, Jop added, "Thanks to your clever timing, your position is very strong now, Cornelius, although... there are murmurs she might drag you down when she falls."

"Oh, come now!" With careful balancing, Fudge wiped the top of one shoe on the back of the opposite trouser leg. "Cards on the table, Jop, what have you heard?"

Jop studied the expression on the face of the Minister for Magic, then braced himself; it was now or never.

"It's said that Dolores is showing occasional signs of hysteria due to the pressure past and present. There is a real possibility that evidence may emerge that it was she who stole those Ministry funds two or three years back."

"But that's ancient history! Water under the bridge."

"Not if she is brought up on charges. It will reflect badly on you, Minister."

"But she's invaluable! No one can replace her as Undersecretary, and then there's Hogwarts!"

"You can come out of this stronger and squeaky clean, Cornelius. You are well respected for your sense of fair play and magnanimity–"

"–I am?"

"–and here is your chance to settle everything once and for all. My information is that Dolores is stressed out with guilt – weakened by it in fact. When she returns to the Ministry she will be vulnerable, seeking any way out. That is when you need to watch her closely and can most easily persuade her to quietly resign without a lot of adverse publicity."

"But Hogwarts! I'll need to speak to Lucius about this."

"Excellent idea! Once you have the Board of Governors operating again, you can reinstate Lucius as chairman. He'll be thrilled if you can persuade him to watch Dumbledore closely and keep that senile old has-been in his place. After all, a Hogwarts headmaster is always subservient to the board. I'm glad you thought of that."

Jop ignored Fudge's mixed expression of puzzlement and delight. He continued, "I've also heard direct confirmation that Dumbledore banished a dark creature from the school just before he left, but he does not realise that he was successful. Why should Dolores take the credit when it was really you who managed the whole cleanup operation so effectively? Use the Daily Prophet to reassure parents that you have had the beast destroyed and the castle is now completely safe – thanks to you – and that you are charitable enough to permit Dumbledore to return on strict probation. His failure will make his position much weaker while your success will make you stronger and emphasise your selfless humanitarianism."

Fudge shook himself a little, thinking it through. "I do see merit in what you are saying..."

"And if that were not enough, there is one man who you could instate as Undersecretary who would not only do an excellent job and express his gratitude to you, but his promotion would forever underline your devotion to justice and your never being afraid to do the right thing."

"Who?"

"Paul Ingleton. He held a responsible senior position in your department. No one knows how to run your office more smoothly than he."

"Ingleton...? But wasn't he the fellow who–?"

"He was exonerated completely and the shadow cast over Umbridge underlines that forevermore."

"Yes... yes... perhaps make an example of her?"

"Mmm... that might reflect back on you. _Softly, softly, catchee monkey,_ yes? Far better to let her fade into obscurity and that whole nasty business be forgotten."

"But if she resists?" Fudge buttoned himself up and wiped his hands down the front of his robes.

"My sources tell me that before the end of the school year – which is only next month – she will not only be more malleable, she will practically beg you to let her go. Timing is everything."

"You'll let me know when?"

"I promise you, Cornelius."

"I appreciate this, Jop. I really do. You scratch mine and I'll scratch yours."

He winked and held out his hand. Jop shook it firmly but with a strained smile, then he went back to wash yet again. _Merlin, Rosie, I hope you know what you're doing!_

.

The Girl With Golden Curls

The month of May warmed up smoothly after the worrying start. Crest's guidance to the students had been subtle but was now keenly felt at Hogwarts: _suffer it to be so now_. Something was coming. No one seemed to quite know what, but the atmosphere was one of secret optimism. Most everyone toed the line. Few got into any serious trouble – with one exception.

The first day of June began brightly; breakfast was served and summer sunshine was pouring in through the stained-glass windows adding colour and life to the scene. As the four friends began to take their seats, Neville paused, one leg half lifted to bestride the long bench beside the Gryffindor table. A few places further along, sunlight was glinting like a crown upon the shining golden curls of a girl he did not recognise from the back of her head, but he certainly knew all the Gryffindor girls. His mind persuaded him who it must be and the boy froze, all at once terrified and overjoyed and excited and bewildered and confused.

"PRINCESS! PRINCESS!" he cried, untangling his foot from the seat and stumbling forward as his shoe crashed onto the floor. "It's me!"

A lull swept through the murmurings of sleepy children still awakening to the first meal of the day. Faces turned. Umbridge glared at the source of the disturbance and rose angrily to her feet. Hermione, realising what was happening, reached out to clutch Neville's sleeve but, too late, she grasped only air. Parvati, just beyond the golden girl and talking to her, now looked directly at Neville's approach with some surprise. Slowly the mystery girl turned her head to see who had caught Parvati's attention.

Neville's mouth fell open when he saw the features of Lavender Brown where Etherea's should have been. "Your hair... it's changed!" His tone was still one of astonished adoration that matched his expression.

Lavender squealed. "Oh, you like it! I'm using a curly blonde sheen charm that Hermione taught me last year. It's perfect now the weather's improving!"

"Perfect..." murmured Neville, beginning to shake as his dream died yet again.

"DETENTION, Mr Longbottom! Five o'clock this evening. My office. Outbursts of this nature will not be tolerated." Umbridge sat down again, certain that the matter would now be resolved.

Hermione dragged Neville back to his place. It was not difficult; the boy was lost in a daze. Ron and Harry exchanged worried glances while the rest of the student body continued with their toast and cereal in ignorance of the true meaning of what had occurred.

A single owl flew in and perched on the table beside the Headmistress, its beating wings fluffing up the coarse bobbles on her pink cardigan. Irritated, she seized its message and shooed the bird away. A frown grew on her face as she began to read. By the end she was scowling around at the entire assembly. "Hem, hem..." She stood up again and glowered at Lavender. "Miss Brown! You will kindly inform your friends that they are not to send their owls directly to..."

She broke off and showed the message to McGonagall at her side. Mcgonagall shook her head. The line of Umbridge's mouth became more stern. "Students will NOT use aliases at Hogwarts! Which of you is Rosemary Brown?" When no one answered, her voice rose to a shriek. "I shall find out for whom this message was intended and you will answer for it!"

Harry stared at Hermione. She stared back. Only the two of them knew who 'Rosie' was. Cathesis were supposed to conceal any messages and have owls fly exclusively to the owlery. Perhaps it had been rushed. If so, the message must be urgent. Hermione watched in dismay as Umbridge smirked and the message burst into flames before vanishing.

"I have to get away at lunchtime," Hermione whispered.

Harry nodded. She knew he'd always cover for her.

.

Swaying in the Wind

Vera Gair beamed her welcome. She still found it hard to believe that this little girl who had knocked so timidly on her front door was the only hope for the world's survival, both magical and Muggle. "Come in, Rosie!"

Jop called from an inner doorway, "Sorry about the mix up with the owls, but I only had a few minutes spare and stupidly used a Ministry owl in my rush."

"Don't worry," replied Hermione, "but I don't think we should even use Hogwarts' owls either anymore. Umbridge has Filch checking the owlery everyday now and he's been given a runic stone. What if it's designed to reveal hidden messages? I'll have to keep checking with you more regularly myself for the time being."

"You're always welcome, Rosie," said Vera, leading the way into the Gair's dining room and waving her arm over the table laid out there. "We're having a prawn salad if you'd care to join us."

After settling in, and once the meal was underway, Jop began his report, "As you know, I'm well attuned to the Ministry's pulse. Fudge is getting impatient. I think he might have been in touch with Umbridge since I last spoke to him. If she sounded too positive then that may cause him to wonder about all the ideas I so carefully seeded in his mind. The man sways like a willow in a storm and might just as easily bend the opposite way tomorrow. Is there somehow we can speed things up? Even one day might be too late."

Hermione winced. This was not what she wanted to hear. She'd hoped to find hard evidence to hold over Umbridge but the blood quill she'd rendered harmless herself and there were no other dark artifacts in her office. Perhaps she could test the Headmistress's wand? A boy called Kevin Entwhistle had been seen to be limping two days ago, but he was refusing to speak to anyone about the cause. Had Umbridge used the Cruciatus curse on him? She was certainly capable.

"Rosie?" urged Jop.

"It's a fine balancing act between preventing her seriously hurting anyone yet catching her in the act," said Hermione. "When we use the Triapetit questions with Veritaserum, I'm almost certain we can convict her of stealing those Ministry funds, but we can't lock her away forever for such a minor crime. I want something substantial and cast iron. The evil things she did to Muggle-borns in my older memories would damn her for eternity but as far as we know she hasn't done anything like as bad as that yet."

Jop said, "I have to apply a little more gentle pressure on Fudge again – today if I can. Maybe again tomorrow. If you can come up with something soon, Rosie... otherwise, I just don't know. The shifting moods within Ministry politics are both subtle and delicately balanced."

Hermione said, "There's one boy who was injured, but I don't know him that well and we don't share any classes. I hate penetrating the mind of an innocent especially if it turns out he only suffered an accident."

She paused. "Let me think about it during this afternoon's lessons then, with your approval, I'll come back to see you early this evening, and make a decision. We may have to take a risk that I'll find something in her memories after we convict her of the fund theft."

.

Hotpot

In the few minutes between every class that afternoon, Hermione tried, without success, to track down Kevin Entwhistle. Susan Bones confirmed he was in Hufflepuff but had always been a quiet, nervous boy. "Nobody's seen him since before lunch."

"What!"

"Have you tried the hospital wing? Hannah said he'd hurt his foot."

There was barely time after the last lesson for Hermione to investigate further. Madam Pomfrey sounded evasive and said only that Kevin claimed to have slipped on the grand staircase and sprained an ankle. She'd sedated him and no, Hermione could not disturb her patient until at least the next morning – and even then only if he agreed.

Something wasn't right. Hermione felt there was enough suspicion to act, given the urgency, and so raced off to see the Gairs once more.

"Tell Fudge to be ready for Umbridge's downfall tomorrow morning," she said, after explaining the situation to Jop.

"And you can definitely get her to return to the Ministry? Without protest?"

"Oh, yes. That's the easy part. Finding enough evidence to get her life in Devil's Deep – well, we have to trust to the gods."

"We should leave it until we are certain then," said Vera. "No matter how unpleasant she is, neither I nor Barty will convict on what we think she _might_ do or we're no better than her."

"We can't leave it," Jop said solemnly. "I'm less and less sure of Fudge than ever. This could all be for nothing."

"We'll find something," said Hermione. "We just _have_ to!"

Vera sighed. "We can talk more over dinner. I've cooked a hotpot. You are staying for your evening meal, I hope? I mean, you've finished lessons for the day?"

"Yes. Thanks, Vera. I do love your hotpots!"

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Trivia: To the British, a 'hotpot' usually means a Lancashire hotpot, which is a baked casserole stew of minced lamb or beef with chopped vegetables and onion covered with a layer of sliced potatoes._ :)

 _A reviewer, Sphie, queried how Hestia's pregnancy was announced at Christmas and the baby born at Easter. Well, women might discover they are expecting any time from within days of conception to weeks to months – and it's not that rare for it to be during labour! Cadence was conceived in July but Hestia had been completely barren since a childhood accident so she wasn't looking for any signs. Imagine her surprise when a healer in St. Mungo's told her the good news in November! After getting over the shock, She and Sirius decided to tell friends and family personally at Christmas, when Harry would be at home rather than just by sending him an owl. Cadence was eventually born on April 15th, 1992, just before Easter._ :)

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	51. 1:Ultimate Detention

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. Over a hotpot dinner, Jop Gair told Hermione he'd persuaded Fudge to accept Umbridge's removal from both Hogwarts and the Ministry, but Hermione must act very quickly to bring it about. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 51**

 **Ultimate Detention**

* * *

.

Dark Return

The great Hogwarts clock was striking seven-fifteen in the evening as Hermione returned from discussion about Umbridge over dinner with the Gairs. She slid in through the stones of Gryffindor Tower and made her way to the Fat Lady Portrait.

"Pig Snout," she declared on her approach and, as the painting swung wide, she hurried through without pausing, book in hand, quill out, and clutching her open bag as if she'd just returned from the library.

 _Blend in, blend in,_ she thought to herself and quietly took a chair against a small table in the corner of the common room. She allowed a good five minutes before casually asking Dean as he passed by with Seamus, "Seen Harry?"

"Uuh... I think he and Ron went to see if Nev's out yet."

"Neville?"

Dean called back over his shoulder, "Detention, remember? Breakfast this morning?" Seeing Hermione's puzzled look he added while walking away backwards, "Chatting up Lavender Brown with her shiny blonde hairdo? ... Called her a princess?" Dean turned and hurried on after Seamus.

Breakfast seemed so long ago to Hermione, who now stared rigidly at the wall in shock. _How could I have forgotten!_ What to do? What to do? _Don't panic! Don't rush! Don't let anyone see any connection between you and Umbridge._

Two minutes slid slowly by after Dean and Seamus had disappeared upstairs before Hermione casually sauntered into the little Gryffindor reading room. It was empty and as far as she could tell, no one had paid any attention to her. Through the wall she flew, then sprinted on in the direction of the Headmistress's office, hoping she wasn't too late. _How could I not have remembered Neville's detention!_ Still, at least the blood quill was neutralised. _But over two hours!_

Hearing faint voices ahead of her on the fifth floor, she sprinted into an alcove behind a statue of Boris the Bewildered, heart pounding. It would not help to be seen anywhere near the Headmistress. Not tonight.

"Hang on, Mate, we'll get you there."

"Need ... rest..." was the faint reply.

Had that been Ron's voice? Hermione peeped out. Two shadowy figures with another slumped between them being half-carried.

"Harry?"

"Hermione! It's Neville!"

"In here. Quickly." Hermione used her wand to open the door beside the statue and they all moved quickly inside.

"It's his feet," said Harry, laying Neville down on a wooden bench with Ron's help.

"Who's there?" came a voice. Ron saw a ghostly girl drifting towards them.

"Not now, Myrtle, please!" cried Hermione, and the ghost burst into anguished sobs and streaked away wailing.

Hermione cast a light then swore under her breath. Neville's feet were bare and dark with bruises and patches of dried blood.

"What is this place? Who was that?" said Ron, looking round. A sizeable pool was sunk into a white marble floor gently lit by a candle-filled chandelier at the far end.

"Prefects' bathroom. That was Moaning Myrtle. She haunts bathrooms because she died in one," said Hermione. She was scrabbling in her bag and soon pulled out a soft pouch and a small vial which she handed to Harry. "Murtlap. Remember how to prepare it?" When Harry nodded, she said, "Use the dittany on the abrasions."

"Ron!" cried Harry, "can you fill that bowl from the pool? Is it warm?"

Ron dipped a hand. "Yeah." He cringed as he spied Myrtle, arms folded, sulking at the bottom of the great bath and glaring up at him.

"Neville? Neville, can you hear me?" said Hermione, cradling his head in one arm.

"He's in a daze, Hermione," muttered Harry.

"Neville, I need to know what happened. May I see your thoughts? Will you let me in?"

"uuh..."

"I think he said yes," Harry murmured, guiding Neville into a sitting position so he could soak his feet.

Hermione braced herself. "Keep him as still as possible."

Then she swam into his most recent memory...

.

Neville's Experience

Hermione watched through Neville's eyes as he entered the Headmistress's office. Being swept into the lion's den was a strange sensation. His swaying over the pink spiral floor made her dizzy.

"Good evening, Mr Longbottom," came a sugary voice from Dumbledore's desk. Hermione could never think of it in any other way but his, despite the tray, teacups, and dreadful flowery teapot that now resided there.

Neville muttered, "Good evening, Professor Umbridge."

"Oh no, no, no, that won't do at all. Let's try again, shall we? Good evening, Mr Longbottom."

"Erm... good evening, Professor Umbridge." His voice had been raised in volume and pitch but not in interest.

She scowled. "We'll be re-evaluating your attitude to your betters, today, Mr Longbottom." A trace of humour softened her childish voice. "Shall we begin?"

Neville opened his mouth but he wasn't sure what to say.

She continued, "If you were asked to give total obedience to Ministry expertise, Mr Longbottom, what would you reply?"

"Uumm... depends on what they asked me to do?"

Umbridge's eyes bulged, and there was a snap to her quick response. "That is where you are sadly wrong and where correction is most necessary. I shall make this very simple: _We are supported by authority's benevolence. Resisting achieves nothing but pain._ Could you repeat that for me, please?"

" _We are supported by authority's...?"_

 _"Benevolence!" snapped Umbridge._

 _"...benevolence. Resisting achieves ... nothing ... but pain."_ Neville incanted dully.

"No, that is not good enough. Repeating words without meaning what you say is not taking them to heart, is it? Would you like to take them to heart, Mr Longbottom?"

"Erm... yes?" Neville didn't care. He wanted this nonsense over with at the earliest possible moment.

"Then I will help you. I'm your friend, Mr Longbottom." Delicately and slowly, she lifted the teapot and began to pour. Hermione noticed she only poured out one cup but added enough sugar for several.

Neville waited.

"Repeat after me: _Doing is better than saying,"_ said Umbridge, after taking a little sip of tea.

In a monotone, Neville rolled out the same words. The Headmistress shook her head and the dark little bow on top wobbled like a horrible black dung fly. "You see the floor on which you stand, Mr Longbottom?"

Neville replied that he did.

"And if you resist it? If you press upon it?"

Neville frowned.

"Do it," said Umbridge, more severely. "Press your weight down upon it. See if you can overcome, overturn, or break down that which is so helpfully supporting you."

A sigh escaped Neville's lip but he complied.

"Well?"

"Nothing happens," said Neville.

"Precisely," simpered Umbridge, as if she'd evoked some profound, earth-shaking revelation. She took another sip of tea. "And how about the centre? The one around which all your support revolves?"

"The brick in the middle?"

She inclined her head.

"You want me to step on it?"

She stared at him, unmoving, as if everything was so obvious and clear.

Neville went towards the middle of the floor. Through his eyes, Hermione noticed that whereas all the other bricks were laid end to end in a spiral, the central brick was upright showing only its smallest end. There was a sinister, unpleasant stain around it that disturbed the girl, but Neville didn't seem to notice. He stood upon it and lifted his heels up and down as if to press his weight down more firmly.

"And?" said Umbridge.

"Nothing," said Neville. He'd begun to think he might as well simply follow the game now, play it out and go.

"And if you try to remove the centre of your support?"

"You want me to try and get the brick out?" He stared down at it, puzzled.

"It's not cemented in like the others. Its secure because of its surrounding inferiors yet free of their control."

Neville crouched down and felt the top edges of the brick. "I can't get enough grip."

"Oh, I think you can if you really try."

He pulled a face and struggled to squeeze every finger around the coarse rim. With an effort he eased it up half an inch then found he had an improved purchase on its sides. He lifted the brick out with only sore fingertips for his trouble.

"Place it in on the floor in front of my desk where I can see it. There's an important lesson for you to learn."

Neville began to wonder if she wasn't a little bit mad but he laid the brick down where he was told.

"Try pushing it down now its temporarily away from its central position."

He pulled a face. The joke was wearing very thin. "You want me to stand on the brick?"

"No, _you_ want to, don't you? I know you do."

He drew a long breath and stepped onto the brick. There was just room for the front of the soles of both his feet, and his shoes gave him a little support too. After a minute had passed he said, "How long for?"

"Oh, as long as it takes for you to learn the lesson," said Umbridge sweetly. She opened a drawer in her desk and drew out a pile of parchments which she began to check through with a red quill. Hermione recognised them as the Defence homework which had been handed into Quirrell.

Many minutes passed. Umbridge's quill scratched away – sometimes quite viciously – otherwise there was nothing to occupy Neville's interest. He became bored. His feet had begun to ache slightly but it seemed no worse than standing quite still waiting for a Puffapod to flower naturally. Only after a quarter of an hour did he become uncomfortable enough to try to shift his weight – but couldn't. There was no room other than to ease one foot up a time very slightly so that his tormentor might not notice. He began to breathe a little more heavily and stared down to see if he could edge one shoe a quarter inch differently. He couldn't.

Through his eyes, Hermione saw Neville look up at Umbridge. The Headmistress had been watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.

"Yes?"

"Uuh... I think I understand now," said Neville hesitantly.

"Oh, no, I don't think you do," was the reply. "You must _will_ with all your heart to press down the centre of your support. Only by failing will you truly understand the futility of your arrogant stance and completely accept the truth."

Hermione could not bear any more. She moved forward through Neville's memory, then forward even further. The clock on the wall showed well past six o'clock but the boy was still standing to attention on the brick – though swaying a little, and there was sweat on his brow.

"Have you succeeded yet in pushing it down?" Umbridge said suddenly.

"No," croaked Neville, surprised by the abrupt interruption.

"Not even a little bit? In all this time?"

He shook his head. "It's hopeless."

"Exactly!" exulted Umbridge. "You may stand down."

Neville released a long breath in relief, but groaned as his aching feet tried to stand normally. He stumbled a few paces.

"You're thinking a different approach might not be so futile, aren't you?" gloated Umbridge, watching his expression for any sign of weakness. "I know just how the minds of underlings work. You're supposing the side must be vulnerable, yes?"

"The side?"

"Yes, turn it over. You need to learn this, don't you?"

"Turn...?" He leaned down and turned over the brick onto its narrow edge. He stared worriedly. Hadn't he done enough? Surely she didn't mean him to continue?

"Try, Mr Longbottom. It's the only way you'll learn."

"But..." Resignedly, he placed the ball of his right foot onto the brick in a half-tip-toe posture. Surely he couldn't balance for more than a few seconds? He lifted the weight of his left foot beside the right, wobbling for a few moments before he held position. His arms extended slightly to help keep him balanced but it was difficult.

Hermione had seen and felt enough. As the minutes dragged by, Neville's pain was as real to her as if she had been there physically. And yet she owed it to Neville to suffer with him. Guiltily, she moved forward half an hour through the remembrance. Then forward again! A sea of virtual pain now suffused her feet right up to her knees and she struggled to remain with him.

"Hem, hem." Umbridge cleared her throat finally, then slowly poured herself another cup of tea. "Well?"

"Nothing," Neville croaked hoarsely. "It's not yielded at all."

"That's right. Authority never yields. And deep down you know that's how it should be, don't you?" She took a long thoughtful drink before saying. "Stand down."

With a groan, Neville stumbled off the brick and fell over. He wasn't sure if he'd yet be able to walk to the door. He got to his knees and willed one foot to take his weight.

"Hem, hem." Umbridge wiped her mouth with a tiny handkerchief. "A few more minutes of your time before you go, Mr Longbottom."

"But..."

"Just five minutes. Unless, of course, you'd like to start all over again tomorrow night?"

Neville, still on one knee, winced and said dejectedly, "No."

"Very good." She tucked her handkerchief carefully up the sleeve of her cardigan. "There is one more approach I'd like you to try..." She looked pointedly at the brick where it still lay.

Neville stared. "You can't mean...?"

She nodded.

"Stood on end?" He shook his head vigorously and beads of sweat flew down onto the pink-bricked floor, spattering it with dark spots. "I can't anymore. Honestly, I just can't." He saw no pity in her bulging eyes. "And... it would topple over."

"I've thought of that. Perhaps you could wedge something down the cavity and push the brick down on top?"

"Wha...?" He looked wildly around.

"Have you nothing?"

With an effort, Neville struggled to his feet, grimacing at the fiery torture of his injuries. He patted his pockets and shook his head.

"Are you sure?"

He held his open hands out. "Yes."

"What about your Gryffindor socks? They should do fine."

"My socks?"

"In the hole, Mr Longbottom."

For a long time he stared at her in disbelief. Was this a nightmare? Or was she another devil sent to torment his soul?

Only when his legs gave way once more, and he sank to the ground, did he decide he must get this over with. "Only five minutes?"

"Yes. I think that will be enough to impress upon you this final lesson."

There was relief when he fumbled off his shoes and peeled off the socks. His swollen feet were a terrible mix of burning yellows and blacks but the air felt cool. On his knees he stuffed the sweaty socks down into the cavity and plunged the hated brick down on top. More than half of it protruded but it was held stable by the tightness of the gap. Nevertheless, he stared ruefully at the tiny rectangle on which he would have to stand. It was obvious he'd never get both feet onto it.

"I won't be able to. I know I won't," he said, struggling to even get up off his knees once more. The longer he left it the more his ankles swelled and stiffened.

"Only when you give your all, will you truly learn that resisting authority's benevolence brings nothing but painful failure. Five minutes, Mr Longbottom. Surely even you can manage that to improve yourself?"

"I really don't think it's possible."

"Oh, it's possible, Mr Longbottom. Trust me, I've had it thoroughly tested by... willing volunteers."

Hermione mentally shuddered. A quiet anger was bubbling up inside her but she had to remain calm and observe.

The spiralled brick floor felt rough and cold beneath Neville's agonisingly raw feet. Slowly he lifted his right leg then gingerly placed the foot atop the sharp-edge brick, grimacing as he did so. The boy shouted out in pain as he lifted himself up onto it, arms flailing wide to maintain his balance. His cries continued for the first half minute until they subsided into low, sustained groans.

Perhaps another minute had passed before he thought to look at the clock. It was almost seven.

"That was only twenty seconds, Mr Longbottom. Let's round it up, shall we? From seven to five past. That's easier for us, isn't it?"

Neville had no fight left in him to argue. Hermione read his courageous thought: _I can do this!_

Alas, in his second minute, the pain increased beyond his endurance and he toppled off, screaming as a cramp contorted his calf.

"Oh, dear," said Umbridge. "Begin again when you're ready." With a smirk, she began to pour another cup of tea.

Neville's right foot was now too severely bloated to be of use. He forced his left foot onto the brick and bit into his lip as he hoisted himself up once more. A minute of agony passed very slowly. Then another. At the end of the third, he squinted through sweat at the clock; it was five past seven. Pleadingly, biting hard on his lip, he looked at Umbridge.

"You began again, remember? Two more minutes."

Neville had nothing left. He collapsed, banging his knee to add to his agony. On the floor he writhed.

"Begin again when you're ready. Five minutes."

Unable to move, Neville curled up, wishing he was dead.

"Otherwise," simpered Umbridge with a girlish little giggle, "well I'm afraid you must return for another detention tomorrow night. Oh, and Mr Longbottom, refusing to attend a detention is automatic expulsion."

Tomorrow didn't exist. At that moment Neville didn't care if he never saw Hogwarts ever again. Prostrate, he began crawling away, leaving a faint trail of sweat and little blood spots in his wake.

Umbridge watched him for a minute or so until, bewildered, he bumped his head against the wall decorated with the ornamental plates. The kittens miaowed down at him.

"The door is the other way, Mr Longbottom," purred Umbridge.

Neville groaned. With a supreme effort mixed with both pride and despair he stood and turned. He ran. He fell. half-crying now but fighting it, he dragged himself on hands and knees to the door which lay open before him. Outside, only the smoothly descending spiral stair aided the boy as he pulled himself headfirst down onto it and lay still, grateful for the free ride. As he was drawn at last to the Gargoyle entrance, it sprang open. Harry and Ron stood there, calling out his name in shock, and reaching for him, lifting him up, caring for him.

Hermione pulled out of Neville's mind, shaking with rage, her magic crackling around the white marble of the Prefects' bathroom and fizzing the surface of the pool with angry bubbling tremors.

A flash of mirror-polished blade shone as she pulled out the Zabini presentation knife, eyes blind to her surroundings and squealing with fury, "She's dead! The bitch is dead!"

Ron backed off, frightened by the power and violence threatened. Harry seized her shoulders, the dagger moving inches from his face. "No, Hermione! NO!"

For a few moments she did not recognise him, then, as he continued to plead, her anger began to subside and she put away the knife. With a nod she conveyed to her friends that she had somewhat mastered herself once more and was taking stock of the changed situation.

"You're right, Harry. Death is too good for her." She thought some more. "Stay here with Neville until he is recovered enough. Help him back to your dorm when you can. Don't let anyone see you. Use the invisibility cloak and the map if necessary. Tell no one what has happened tonight."

"What about toad face?" said Ron.

Hermione's face was stony. "I'll take care of her. I'm going to do what I should have done on day one."

"You're not going to... kill her, are you?" said Harry.

"Worse," she said grimly. "I'm taking her out completely."

.

The Bloody Quill

Professor Umbridge hummed softly to herself as she began to burn another one of Dumbledore's books while it spun slowly in mid-air above the hearth. As she watched, the little flames guttered as though in a draught, smoked, and extinguished themselves. She spun around, puzzled. The book fell, almost unharmed.

"Who...? You're Granger, aren't you? What do you mean by this?" She strode over to her logbook on the Head's desk. "I have no other appointments this evening," she confirmed half to herself.

Hermione remained silent, watching her prey.

"Well?" said Umbridge. "Explain yourself."

"Detention," said Hermione.

Umbridge frowned, half-glancing at her log again. "No, but I shall oblige you with one if you have no good reason to be here. How did you get in?"

"You're the one who's in detention tonight, Dolores," Hermione said softly.

The Headmistress's eyes flared, then one eyebrow arched. "This is about Longbottom, isn't it? Has he been spreading ridiculous lies? He suffers from delusions. You heard him this morning. A pathetic infatuation with that Miss Lavender Brown he seems to regard as royalty."

"He hasn't spoken yet; he's still recovering." Hermione paused. "There's to be an investigation," she added quite firmly, knowing it was not quite a lie; Barty, Vera, and herself would scrutinise the evidence and decide Umbridge's fate.

For a moment, Umbridge hesitated, unsure of herself for the first time. "The boy must have had an accident then! He was fine when I dismissed him earlier."

Hermione waited, looking at the tiny stains on the floor, the still-protruding central brick, the pair of abandoned shoes. Her face was impassive, calculating.

Umbridge snorted, yet she was definitely unsettled. "You come here to...? Only to defy me, you impudent girl? Just who do you think you are! You will–"

"I'm Rosemary Brown, and I am your worst nightmare." Hermione winced inwardly. Her little girly voice rendered the cliché not scary at all.

Umbridge blinked. A few seconds were needed for her to make the connection with the anonymous owl message at breakfast, then her eyes bulged with glee. "Expulsion! I promise you that." She reached to her desk drawer to find the appropriate form.

"I agree," said Hermione, in a flat tone that stopped Umbridge in her tracks. " _You_ are to be expelled after you have served your detention."

Colour spread across Umbridge's face and her ugly jowls quivered.

Out came Hermione's wand. She didn't need it, but wanted to move things along with an open threat.

A tiny girlish giggle came out of Umbridge's mouth as she casually drew out her own wand. "Oh my dear Miss Granger, are you going to tickle me with your immature witchcraft?" Her face hardened suddenly. "This action incurs a mandatory six months minimum in Azkaban. Surrender your wand now and I shall recommend that it be no longer than one year."

"I was considering a far heavier sentence," growled Hermione.

She made the tiniest of gestures and Umbridge's wand flew out of her stubby grip and splintered to dust in the air between them. Umbridge squealed a mix of anger and fear, her fat little legs running on the spot driven by a frustrated flight reflex that had nowhere for her to go. "You... you..."

Finally her mouth gaped and the frightened expression above it indicated Umbridge now knew she'd greatly underestimated the girl. "You're the one who..." Her arm flailed out in the direction of the quill box on the cabinet behind the desk. "It was you who tampered with my blood qu– with my quill!"

Hand in her beaded bag, Hermione strode forward so swiftly that Umbridge stumbled back a step.

The young girl snapped, "Call that a blood quill, Dolores? _THIS_ is a fucking blood quill!" Hermione drove the Zabini knife into Dumbledore's desk with a heavy thud. Umbridge stared transfixed as it quivered there, then her hand began to slowly creep towards it.

Hermione read her intention as easily as her movement. "It's a cursed blade, token of a defensive debt owed by a most ancient and noble house. You cannot hope to use it against a Granger."

Umbridge drew back her pudgy little hand and hissed, "There will come a time when Mudbloods like you shall pay with–"

"SIT DOWN," Hermione said sternly. "You're going to be writing some lines for me, this evening."

"I shall not, and you cannot make me."

"We can do this the hard way or we can do it the really, really hard way," said Hermione and Umbridge felt every bone in her body seized in an invisible vice that pushed and animated her as a twisted marionette towards Dumbledore's chair. The knife leapt into Hermione's hand and, though she was several paces away, when she slashed it through the air, Umbridge's clothing: robes, underwear and all, fell in shreds around the woman's feet.

Umbridge squealed like a sow and cowered behind the desk, covering her nakedness as best she could, and blubbering incoherently, "You– you–"

Hermione threw the knife onto the desk before her. "You will carve the lines one at a time into the desktop."

"You want me to do lines? ... That's all? " Puzzled relief slightly lessened Umbridge's frightened demeanour. Arms crossed over her flabby breasts, she first rose uncertainly then darted swiftly into the seat, leaning forward as low as she could to grip the handle of the knife.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the woman. "I told you, it's the _blood quill spell,_ Dolores. I modified the enchantment with a few extras, the better to help you learn." Hermione drew her hand across her throat to emphasise the meaning.

Umbridge's eyes widened and she dropped the knife as if it were hot. "No! No, I won't!"

The weapon rose of its own accord and its cruelly-curved tip poised ready at one side of the desk surface. Hermione said, "Left to itself, the knife will cut far deeper..."

As if to demonstrate, the blade plunged into the wood and Umbridge screamed in pain, blood dribbling down from a heavy wound in her chest. Forgetting all dignity, she squirmed like an eel to escape but was held firmly in the seat.

"Take up the knife again, Dolores, or you may not survive. The blade has no pity and I will not stop it."

Gibbering with fright, Umbridge forced herself to grasp the handle again, then looked at Hermione fearfully.

"You'll be re-evaluating your attitude to your betters, today, Dolores. Write out: _Society is its own authority, and government merely serves it."_

"But... that makes no sense to me at all."

"Write until it does!" barked Hermione.

As lightly as she could with the knife's fine point, Umbridge inscribed the declaration on the desktop, squealing and shrieking as the words were also scratched across her chest.

"How many times?" she gasped finally, fearing the worst.

Hermione had made a fresh pot of tea and was pouring herself a cup. She took a big slurp before saying sweetly, "Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in."

Many painful minutes passed by and emotions changed as Hermione sipped slowly of her hot beverage. Fifteen minutes ... twenty-five ... On her second cup, shame and pity swept through the girl. Umbridge's mind was foolish, friendless, and filled with dangerously unimportant notions, while her body was now red-streaked from throat to ankle with an assertion she could never grasp. What did such treatment prove?

"Enough." Hermione took back the knife, cleansed it, and put it into her bag and out of her sight.

Spite crept back onto Umbridge's face and she sneered at Hermione's weakness. Unmoved, Hermione stared right back – and much more deeply. Whispers of new thinking began to occur to the older woman. Confusion took possession. Words formed in her head and on her tongue, " _I... I can never be worthy of this appointment..."_

"You should leave Hogwarts in the morning," Hermione murmured softly.

" _I'll go early... Hide my shame..."_ Umbridge mumbled to herself, eyes closing to dwell on some internal revelation.

"Perhaps the Minister will also accept your resignation from his office if you plead with him."

Umbridge began to shed tears, blubbering mindlessly to herself, " _Might he be so gracious...? I do not deserve such release. I shall debase myself. Yes, if I beg, he may take pity on me and allow me to retire from his service."_

"Pack your bags, leave home. Wait in the side alley amongst the filth thrown there. Someone will come during the day. They'll provide a suitable lodging in which you can spend the rest of your shameful life."

"Oh, I do hope so," sobbed the woman.

.

Cheers for Harry

Hermione gazed happily at the monster headlines in the Evening Prophet over dinner in the Great Hall the next day:

MINISTER FUDGE HAS  
RESCUED HOGWARTS  
UMBRIDGE RESIGNS !  
DUMBLEDORE'S BACK  
INGLETON PROMOTED  
TO UNDERSECRETARY

 _In a surprise move, Minister Fudge sent his crack team of disposal experts to exterminate a vicious gremlin at the school whereupon Headmistress Umbridge, showing signs of stress and no longer needed as temporary caretaker, took the opportunity to retire from education and politics 'to stay at a pleasant new residence on the continent.'_

 _'Rest assured' said Minister Fudge working hard from his family home today, 'that our children are safe and in good hands once more thanks to our Ministry which is even stronger from today because of our very experienced new Undersecretary, Paul Ingleton.'_

"Fudge has a family? What family?" said Harry.

"It used to be his great-uncle's flat at one time," said Hermione, "until the Ministry forced the old man into a mental home and Fudge took over his affairs – and the apartment."

"So he gets all the credit," grumbled Harry to Ron, but Ron was writing excitedly about Umbridge's departure to Ginny using Harry's diary and not paying much attention.

Hermione shrugged. "The credit doesn't matter; it's only cosmetic to appease Fudge and means very little in the long run. Meanwhile, Dumbledore will be as secure as ever, the Board of Governors will be exactly as before, Umbridge is completely out of the picture, and a good man is now in a strong position to support the _next_ Minister for Magic when the time comes."

"The _next_ Minister? Who?" said Harry.

"Aah! We shall have to wait and see."

McGonagall rose at that moment to announce she would be running things for the next few weeks and Dumbledore's return at the start of the new school year in September, and that the recent Ministerial decrees would immediately cease to be enforced.

Cheers went up from the Hufflepuff Crestors and those exultant cries were immediately replicated by the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, with most of the applause swerving in Harry's direction, much to his embarrassment.

Harry and Hermione immediately used a charmed Galleon to call their first meeting of the term for the next evening which raised more positive shouts from around the Great Hall – and lifted a few eyebrows amongst staff and students alike.

"Harry, we need to consider next year's first-years, especially those Muggle-raised. It annoys me that kids like myself are left in the dark about magic until the summer before they start at Hogwarts! I wanted to get Crest to offer them support months ago but with Umbridge stopping all our meetings it never happened."

"But how can we tell who they are?"

"I'm thinking of looking in the Book of Admittance – oh, I hate doing it, it's kind of... irreverent."

"I'm with you," said Harry. "Whatever you decide."

Hermione smiled and impulsively squeezed the back of his hand. "Together then?"

"Together," breathed Harry.

.

The Book of Admittance

Hermione had known for a long time _where_ the great Book was kept, but not how to get there. Harry was becoming rather frustrated as they searched for a likely way in.

"That little turret across the back courtyard? That's where the Founders put the Book of Admittance?" said Harry. "But we've already been down the corridor below that twice."

The two friends were looking out from a second-floor corridor. There was less than an hour before curfew but, being mid-June, the sun was still far from setting and the sky was bright with streaks of orange and gold.

"It is curious..." murmured Hermione. "I suspect there's a moving stair that only McGonagall and Dumbledore know about. Probably the door is extra warded and secure anyway."

"Can we fly over from here? There's three windows, look, but they're tiny."

"That's what I'm just wondering."

Hermione embraced Harry tightly and they swept out invisibly through the stone wall and slowly across the courtyard.

"I get what you mean about being secure in space," said Harry, snuggling in more tightly to his friend. "This is much better than no gravity and feels even safer than a broomstick! Like we're kind of held firmly by solid air. Can we look at the view for a minute?"

Hermione paused in her flight and they drifted gently together, watching a few kids below trudging back to their common rooms.

"How come we can still uuh... feel each other if we're not material?" said Harry after a while.

"Anything I carry with me from the start I include in the spell," explained Hermione. "That's how I can still use my bag and my wand. I can also cast magic and summon other objects but I wouldn't be able to grasp them. I'd have to hover them with me."

She turned her attention back to the objective ahead. "Ready?"

"Mmm...?"

"Harry?"

"Oh, yeah, right..."

They entered the turret through the central casement and settled down, solid once more, onto the flagstones in the centre of a small circular chamber. A large sloping desk resembling a lectern stood immediately below the window, and the light from outside danced down to illuminate the wondrous leather-bound tome that lay upon the polished oak surface. In the right hand corner of the desk, a large quill was poised within a generous pottery inkwell stained blue from centuries of use.

The Book of Admittance was open and they gazed across at it for a while, hardly daring to approach too closely. The Quill of Acceptance quivered occasionally but took no other action which they regarded as a good sign. Encouraged, they crept forward.

Hermione let out a breath as she beheld the displayed pages. "The entries are in surname order for each year by the looks of it. The ink is fresh; these must be the newest entries."

"Davis. ... Dorrick. ... Go back a page to the B's and C's," said Harry, "I want to see if there's a Black. My sister ought to be down for Hogwarts, right?"

Hermione reached out but the page turned before her fingers could make contact.

"There!" cried Harry. "There's Cadence! She's magical!"

"I should jolly well expect so," smiled Hermione. "You didn't really think she'd be a Squib?"

"Well, no – but it's nice to know for sure." He paused. "How'd we go back to my entry? It's annoying the Book has me as a Black as well. I should be a Potter."

"I told you, this is old magic before name-changing legislation." She looked at him. "You won't be able to alter it."

He frowned. She reached out to the book. Pages flew by.

They stared in astonishment. It was not the ' _Black, Harry James'_ entry that shocked them but the name above it.

"I don't believe it," said Hermione.

"How can he be?" Harry shook his head.

Hermione read the entry aloud as if the sound of it might make more sense. " _Black, Draco Lucius."_

"How can he be a Black and why didn't McGonagall call him a Black at the Sorting – she did me!" Harry was clearly annoyed.

Hermione did not reply at once, she was thinking hard.

"And how come," continued Harry, in an even more irritated tone, "he didn't show on my map as a Black like me? You said it draws on the castle's old magic."

Hermione gasped. "Did you ever look for him?"

Harry frowned, then light dawned. "Daggard had my map most of the time!"

"Oh my God! That's it!" cried Hermione. "That might be to do with why she tried to kill him! She must have seen Draco's surname on your map!"

"Why? Why kill him just because he's a Black?"

"I'm not sure. It must mean something..."

"And the Sorting...?"

Turning away to stare at a blank wall, Hermione struggled to recall old memories. "Where an ancient and noble house wishes to extend their line, it is perfectly legal for the groom to take the surname of the bride. Lucius must have taken Narcissa's name!"

"But then they're all Blacks!"

"Yes. He must have done it covertly and, like you, had their names changed to Malfoy to cover it up. They really _are_ legally Malfoys except to the old magic."

"Why by Merlin's tatty old cloak would they do that!"

She shook her head. "And being the Chairman of the School Board he'd have some access to records. Perhaps the Hogwarts Acceptance Letter List is submitted to the Board and he tampered with it. I think that same list is used for the Sorting. Didn't you say once that he knew about the Book of Admittance?"

"Yes, but why go to all that trouble?"

"I don't know, Harry. I just don't know. For now, we'd better keep very, very quiet about this. Don't even tell Ron. The fewer that know the better until we understand what's going on."

"Won't McGonagall know?"

"I'm not sure she'd necessarily look at the entries in the Book or even the List unless there was a special need like the Sorting. The Book must somehow..." Her voice faded as the thousands of pages in the Book suddenly fluttered wildly and came to rest at 1992 whereupon a single sheet of parchment rose up to rest upon the top. "...produce the ... List ... just before summer," she finished lamely.

As they stared there was a loud click and a rattle of keys from outside.

"GO!" cried Harry in a hoarse stage whisper.

Hermione had the presence of mind to copy the List, seize hold of Harry, and was passing invisibly out through the wall as McGonagall entered from behind them.

As they walked back to the Gryffindor Tower, Harry said, "It's hardly worth it now. They'll get letters in a few weeks anyway."

"Yes, I'd rather we'd had months to prepare but it's more about showing support. One day I hope the parents of Muggle-borns will be kept informed and given guidance about magic from the birth of their babies," said Hermione, "so they understand about the Magical community and what to do about accidental magic and so forth. She glanced down the list and shook her head. "I'm ashamed to say I hardly know any of these names except for Colin Creevey but each of those marked with an 'M' deserve more notice than they get at present."

.

Summer Optimism

And so it was. At the next Crest meeting they had more enthusiastic volunteers to help the incoming Muggle-raised first-years than were available. Three or four Crestors were assigned to make contact with each one as early during the summer break as was possible. There'd be guidance, advice, shopping trips to Diagonal Alley in good company, and even financial help where needed.

Being also Muggle-raised, Dean was very willing to be the main agent for the recruitment of Colin Creevey whose parents were both non-magical. Dean then asked if his friend Seamus could join Crest because one of his parents was a Muggle too. Hermione quickly agreed; Seamus had proven in her 'future vision' that he'd fight for a good cause. On hearing that Seamus was joining, Padma begged Harry to consider her sister and Hermione gave a nod and also recommended Lavender, as well as Fay and Sally-Anne who had both stood up to Umbridge in class.

The meeting ended on the highest note of optimism it had ever attained with all members spontaneously bursting into song including a 'For he's a jolly good fellow' aimed mainly at Harry. In their eyes he'd proved himself right once again with his good advice about being patient with Umbridge and the implication that she would not remain at Hogwarts for long and nobody wanted her back. If they only knew, she'd now had all her magic removed by a leech and been committed to Devil's Deep for life; she wasn't going anywhere ever again and the only person she could torture and torment would be herself.

Summer was being looked forward to more than ever. Harry's spirits were still high because of his now-larger family; Hermione was happy that Cathesis had made significant advances during the year; Ron was eager to see Ginny over in France; and even Neville had not only recovered, but had become quite uplifted on hearing that Umbridge was removed permanently.

All was well.

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To be continued...

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—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _The story will continue in this same fic next week as Book 2 begins: Hermione Granger and The Gates of Life. Note that I'm considering temporarily marking the fic complete for a couple of weeks to give other readers (who filter out 'In-Progress' fics) to decide if they wish to read the books completed so far. So don't panic if you see it marked complete. The whole 8-book fic will continue; it's only the first two books that are complete so far._

 _Now I know what you're all worrying yourselves sick about: Did Neville ever get his shoes and socks back? And the answer is, yes he did. I made sure of that._ ;)

 _Also, I'd have liked to show Umbridge being interrogated at Devil's Deep then her magic removed etc, but I'm afraid of those scenes becoming too much of the same thing. Suffice to say that Hermione's testimony of her torture of Neville was enough to get Umbridge a prison sentence. Hermione was confident they'd then uncover other crimes using Veritaserum without the Triapetit restriction or even Legilimens._ :)

 _Here's my list of inmates in Devils' Deep so far (let me know if I've missed anyone):  
1988 Alecto Carrow  
1989 Barty Crouch Jr  
1990 Wade Gibbon  
1990 Fenrir Greyback  
1990 Rita Skeeter  
1991 Steff Daggard (Body removed early 1992)  
1992 Dolores Umbridge_

Who the hell was Wade Gibbon? I hear you (and me) cry. I confess I had to search my own story! (Chapter 31) He was a Death Eater in the first war who claimed he'd been Imperiused, but since Hermione knew he was still active later in her former life (he cast the Dark Mark over Hogwarts and fought in the Battle of the Astronomy Tower) then he was certain to fail the Triapetit for his early crimes (and he did!)

:)

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	52. 2:High Five

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are enjoying a well-deserved holiday. Now read on..._

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 **Book 2: Hermione Granger and The Gates of Life**

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 **Chapter 52**

 **High Five**

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Neville's Release

The summer of 1992 held mixed blessings for Harry and Hermione. After the first two weeks of the holidays, Ron had once more travelled to France with his family to be with Ginny, while Neville – well, Neville was still mourning. It wasn't for lack of trying. Clearly he was fighting it, and Hermione decided he should have more time to grieve the loss of his friend even if she had only been a painted representation of life. Still, they saw him no more than twice a week, leaving Harry and Hermione to companion with each other.

Little Cadence was a blessing. Harry's new sister rarely cried and then only gently, so sitting with her tended to be very restful. Minor irritations were soothed away and both Harry and Hermione were eager babysitters, leaving Hestia and Sirius – Harry's adopted parents – with more free time.

Came the day near the end of August when Neville had joined them for a morning. Sirius and Hestia were sorting out documents in the study upstairs and only occasionally glancing out the window. The sun was growing stronger so the children had taken shelter beneath the shade of the few trees that graced the side of the long path – more for the sake of Cadence than anything. She was burbling away happily in her carry crib, leafy shadows dancing across her sweet face.

Hermione had been reading softly to the boys from a Muggle storybook. Neville for once had relaxed and he lay back on the grassy slope, his arm flopped on one side as he listened to the buzz of insects, and the swish of the breeze in the branches above, and Hermione's voice...

" _'I know it's a – shabby, dingy little place,' sobbed poor Mole, 'not like – your cosy quarters – or Toad's beautiful hall – or Badger's great house – but it was my own little home – and I was fond of it – and I went away and forgot all about it – and then I smelt it suddenly – on the road, when I called and you wouldn't listen, Rat – and everything came back to me with a rush – and I WANTED it! – O dear, O dear! – and when you WOULDN'T turn back, Ratty – and I had to leave it, though I was smelling it all the time – I thought my heart would break. – We might have just gone and had one look at it, Ratty – only one look – it was close by – but you wouldn't turn back, Ratty, you wouldn't turn back! O dear, O dear!'"_

And Neville sensed tiny fingers clasping his thumb. Surprised, he lolled his head to the right. Blue grey eyes smiled into his. There was a terrible rush of emotion through his chest which began to heave with sobs. Out from him poured months of misery in as few seconds, leaving him panting and gasping and wondering how a little baby could have touched him so deeply.

Harry stared. Hermione shooed him away and closed the book to follow him. They waited by the movable rabbit hutch that Sirius had lain on the lawn, pretending an interest, not glancing back until they heard Neville clamber to his knees, plucking his thumb away only when he was allowed. An embarrassed smile tweaked his lips and his eyes still glistened in the sunlight despite them being cast only downward at the babe. Cadence had released him at last.

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Draco's Return

Northward into darkness! Hermione, Harry, and Neville relaxed to the swaying of the train as it raced along its track. Ron had missed the Hogwarts express yet again and the remaining three friends could only hope he would return from France in time for the Sorting.

Harry said, "It's his mum every time. He told me she keeps crying and won't come away but I think he's nearly as bad. Do you think when Cadence grows up I'll be like that? That I'll be reluctant to return to Hogwarts?"

"It'll be just you and me on the train then, Neville," said Hermione. She smiled at him. He was sitting more upright these days. Perhaps he was a little taller too. She had high hopes.

"Unless I forget Trevor." He retrieved his errant toad from where it had hopped onto the floor. Neville was grinning which was good. After glancing at the luggage rack above Hermione's head, a question flickered almost visibly across the boy's face. "You send your owl ahead, don't you?"

Footsteps were approaching out in the corridor but Hermione quickly answered Neville, "Yes, Farrimond is extremely smart–"

The door slid open. Draco stood there. Alone. The skin at the centre of both his lips was twisted awkwardly but there was no other sign of the injuries he had sustained the year before. His eyes glanced briefly over Neville and Hermione then focused on Harry.

"Spoke to Zabini. He said I had you to thank. I don't know how you did it. I'd have gutted Daggard and hung her up for the crows if it had been me."

Perhaps it was the presence of Hermione and Neville that made him hesitate but he said "Thanks," then turned away, closing the door behind him.

"Well..." said Neville, "that was... interesting."

"He thinks I arranged Daggard's death?" said Harry.

Hermione said, "Let him think what he will. He's not so pretty now. Hope he balances that with an improved manner."

"He's been okay with me, what little contact we had," said Harry. "I don't know why you–"

"–He's a complete arse," snapped Hermione. "Never forget that, Harry. He has his own agenda and currently it suits him to suck up to you. Don't antagonise him but don't get too close either."

Harry and Neville glanced at one another but said nothing, surprised by Hermione's bitterness. Only she knew the awful things Draco had done in her former life and what he was capable of in this.

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Everything and More

Excitement defined the atmosphere in the Great Hall when they arrived. Perhaps it was the anticipation of normalcy and safety after the previous three terms in which one murder, one attempted murder, several near-misses, and one draconian headmistress had stressed everyone out. Whatever the reason, the three friends watched with interest as the new first-years trooped anxiously up to the front of the hall to await their turn with the Sorting Hat.

"Were we that tiny last year?" grinned Harry.

Hermione began scanning around and was reassured to see Neville taking an interest in the goings-on too. But Ron had still not arrived and hope was fading that he would even be there in time for the last part of the feast. Colin Creevey was present at any rate and babbling excitedly to other newcomers who were either side of him, gazing around in awe and anxiety. Over at the Slytherin table, Zabini, she noted, had spaced himself well away from Malfoy. Good. Little chance then of a repeat meeting of the two in the Astronomy Tower, and, looking carefully, she could not see any replacement for Draco's personal two-colour goblet – the one that had scarred his lips when he had been blasted by Daggard.

Dumbledore arrived and astonishingly received a standing ovation to which he graciously cast a blushing charm upon himself, beaming with delight and surprise at the welcome even if he considered it was mostly powered by confirmation that Umbridge would not return. A few seats away, Professor Quirrell was applauding too and Hermione realised this would be the first time she had ever been taught by the same Defence teacher two years in succession. " _No Lockhart, thank goodness,"_ she murmured to herself.

Hermione also clapped heartily with the other Gryffindors when Colin was sorted into their house and he eagerly squeezed into a place next to Dean and Seamus who both had a look of strained patience on their faces. When they'd volunteered at the end of the previous school year to visit and offer Creevey support and guidance, they had no idea what an excitable irritant he could be at this age.

The Sorting ended. McGonagall bustled off with the Hat and stool as the meal began. Neville's appetite had improved and he was chatting with Harry. All good signs of a return to normality. She wished Ron were here though; dinner didn't seem the same without him hoovering up everything in sight. She laughed and only then realised she was truly happy.

"What?" grinned Harry.

"Nothing, just glad to be here," she replied.

When they were all full, Dumbledore made his usual announcement about the deadly Forbidden Forest being forbidden but the school itself was the safest place in the world to be, and then all the students wearily rose to slowly head off towards their common rooms. With Harry on her left and Neville on her right, Hermione didn't mind that the boys were talking across her about the days when they'd played pirates together but soaked up the good humour and contented feelings that were evoked.

Abruptly, Neville stopped walking and she and Harry pulled back a step to look at him. He was staring at the crowd of children ahead. The first-years being led by prefects up the stairs were slowing everyone down, blocking the older Gryffindors behind them. Who was Neville looking at?

"Princess?" He blinked. "PRINCESS!"

Hermione groaned. All good feelings fled. Another girl with fair hair could be glimpsed within the jostling throng up the stair before them. Hermione grabbed Neville's arm but he shrugged her off and pulled away. "PRINCESS!"

His voice was loud enough to carry over the tumult. Faces were turning in puzzlement.

"Neville, please..." begged Hermione as she worked her way after him.

Meanwhile, the attention of the little blonde girl seemed to be on the first-years even further ahead, watching closely which direction they were headed at the top of the stairway. She reached the last step herself and turned right to follow them.

Desperate not to lose sight of her, Neville shoved his way upward and almost caught up to her. "Etherea!"

Only then did the girl turn her head and look back.

"Etherea! It's me!" he cried desperately as he mounted the final step only a few paces from her.

"Sir Neville? How exciting to see you in the flesh!" said the girl, stepping towards him.

To say that Neville's face lit up is to say that the sun rises each morning to brighten the world. "It's you at last! It's really you! I KNEW you were real!"

"Of course I'm real. Why wouldn't I be? Aren't you?" She prodded his arm with curiosity.

Far behind, Hermione, staggered by what she was hearing, struggled on, trying to get a better view of the girl's face but Neville was causing a log jam and a veering of older, taller students around him.

Neville laughed with delight. He glanced back down at Hermione and she saw such rapture in his expression as she'd never witnessed before in the boy – no, not even during the days when he'd regularly visited the painting. And then she finally caught sight of the girl's face. It shocked her to the core.

"HOW...? Wh...? Luna? What are YOU doing here?"

"HERMIONE!" squealed Luna – for such it was – and she seized Neville's arm that she might not lose him to the crowd before Hermione's approach. "And HARRY!"

The four, now together, drew to one side of the corridor above the stair.

"We've been sorted!" Luna cried excitedly, pointing in the direction of McGonagall's office and then, "Ginny went first. She's gone with Ron to the kitchens – but I took ages," she added proudly. "The Hat wanted me in Ravenclaw can you believe, so I insisted and insisted until I wore out the poor Hat!"

Hermione finally took in the scarlet and gold emblem on her robes. "You're in Gryffindor!"

Luna was still clinging to Neville and turned her attention back to him. "Of course. I told myself that Sir Neville was in Gryffindor so that's where I wanted to be too."

Hermione shook her head in confusion, lost for words.

Neville said, "Princess, how did you uuh... get out of the picture?"

A peel of laughter came from Luna's lips. "I painted the picture myself – over a year ago – when we were making the Tutomees and Mum was teaching me to draw and paint magically and–"

"–But how did it get into Hogwarts?" cut in Hermione.

"When Daddy was a boy here at school he produced a news sheet as a sort of project called _The Hogwarts Herald_. That's how he and Mummy met! She did the illustrations and also made a painting of herself to keep an eye on things. When they finished Hogwarts it got left behind."

"That was your mother up in the turret?" said Neville. "But it couldn't be–"

"No, when they eventually married, Mummy made another painting at home so her first portrait could visit and stay. But she told me that after I was born I became confused between her and the portrait so she painted over her. It's so easy to become attached to portraits, don't you think?"

"Erm... yeah, so who was... how did you...?" Neville tried to puzzle it out.

"When we did the Tutomees, remember? Mum taught me to paint and I used the empty painting to add myself. It wasn't everything of me of course, just my playful side – like when I used to pretend to be a princess."

Hermione said, "So _your_ portrait then visited the frame upstairs here at Hogwarts?"

"Yes. I was at Beauxbatons so none of us knew. Then, last winter, Professor Mcgonagall banished my portrait to our home frame and–"

"'Banished' not 'vanished'!" cried Neville. "I thought she said 'vanished!'"

Luna continued without pausing, "–then asked Mummy to paint me out, but instead Mum fetched me back from Beauxbatons for a weekend to explain and teach me how it's done."

Light dawned in Hermione's eyes. "So that's when–"

"I told myself all about Sir Neville."

"The painting told you, you mean?"

"Yes. Isn't that what I said? She _was_ me after all." Luna turned to Neville whose arm she still clutched. "I knew I'd like you, Neville, because we're already best friends."

"My goodness," cried Hermione as she realised how far behind the others they had lagged, "you'd better hurry after the first-years, Luna!"

Luna hooked her arm through Neville's and they set off at a leisurely pace. "Ginny and I are second-years. We've already done a year at Beauxbatons, you see. Madame Maxime discussed it with Professor Dumbledore at Easter. It was touch and go. He said it depended on our end-of-year tests. That's why we had to be sorted separately."

Neville said, "So you really are Etherea?"

"Yes, all of her – but more as well of course."

"Wow! ... How much did she... I mean, how much did _you_ tell yourself about me and what we did together?"

"All of it," smiled Luna.

"All?"

"Absolutely every little detail."

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Five Friends

They found Ginny sitting in the common room munching on a pasty.

"HARRY! HERMIONE!" She thrust her pie down onto its plate and jumped up to meet them, squinting at Neville as she did so. "Who have you got there, Luna? ... NEVILLE? Is that YOU? We met at Harry's that time, remember? By Merlin, you've grown, Neville."

He gave her a wry smile. "This year's going to be great with all five of us together now, I just know it!"

"Yeah," said Harry. "And I told you about my baby sister, didn't I?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You only wrote to us about a zillion times."

"Her name's Cadence," he said proudly.

"Can't wait to see her," said Ginny.

"Six of us, you mean, Neville," said Hermione.

"What?"

"You said all five of us. There's six of us now." She turned to Ginny. "Is Ron checking out his stuff up in the dorm?"

"I guess..." said Ginny. "Listen, you told us about Crest. I mean, me and Luna can join can't we?"

"Definitely you can!" cried Harry.

Hermione frowned. "You guess? Ginny, have you had an argument with him already?"

"Who?"

"Ron of course."

"Not that I recall – Luna, have one of these pasties, they're great!"

Hermione sighed. How could Ron and Ginny have fallen out on their first day back together! Hopefully it would blow over by the morrow. "Are those ginger newts that you've got there?"

"Yeah, here, have a few. Dip them in my tea if you want but no longer than you can count eleven else they break off and sink. Nothing worse than a soggy newt at the bottom of your cup."

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Mr Nobody

Ron stared at the palm of his right hand. Tacky with sweat, it had been itching for a minute or two so he'd rubbed it on his trouser leg until it stopped. The evening was very warm and he'd been rushing to transfer his robes and things from travel trunk to wardrobe so he could get back downstairs before all the pasties were eaten.

The door of the wardrobe seemed really stiff so he left it open and dashed across the room to go down to the common room. The iron door latch had always been awkward but tonight Ron appeared to have forgotten the best angle to push on it. "Merlin! Only been away a couple of months and lost the knack already."

After two minutes of fiddling, he stood back in astonishment. Then realisation dawned. "What the bloomin' heck have Fred and George done?" He ran his fingers through his hair then began banging on the door with his fist. "Oy! You lot down there! Help me out will you!"

Five minutes passed. Then ten. He'd stopped, tried again several times – without success. He stepped up to hammer on the door once more...

BANG! BANG! "Oy! When are–!"

Footsteps could be heard ascending at last. Seamus burst in, pushed past Ron and ran to his chest.

"Oh yeah, don't mind me will you! I'm nobody!" Ron stormed downstairs hoping the pasties would still be hot.

Though the fire was not lit this early in the year, his friends were lounged around the hearth in a group of comfy chairs chatting; they didn't look up as he approached. Something was very odd, Ron was beginning to realise. For one thing even though the pasties in the dish on the arm of Ginny's chair were still nicely steaming, his appetite wasn't quite so voracious as it had been.

"Hey guys! How's everybody?" He reached down carefully, trying not to burn his fingers on a particularly nice fat pie. Perhaps he was being too cautious because his fingers slipped off it – or rather his fingers couldn't quite grasp it fully. He tried again. Then again. His face screwed up in a seriously annoyed frown. "What's going on! Are the twins messing me about?"

He scanned the room. Fred and George were at the far end, chatting with Lee. They didn't look up and that wasn't their style; normally they'd be sneaking glances at the results of any of their pranks. "Ginny? Did you jinx the food?" He tried to grab a different pasty.

"Ginny?" He turned his attention to his sister but she was wrapped up in what Neville was saying to Luna. Harry and Hermione were focused on them too.

"So we can still have fun now and again?" Neville was saying.

"Brave knight," replied Luna solemnly, "there is still the awful dragon Brawnscorcher to be slain, and the evil Rankodor the Bloodymost to be duelled!"

The entire group, including Neville, laughed.

"What are you on about?" said Ron, licking his fingers automatically – though he didn't need to because the pasty crusts hadn't seemed too hot, nor could he even taste much.

Neville seized the poker from the fireplace and brandished it over his head. "A dozen Brawnscorchers and a hundred Rankodors wouldst I meet in battle to win thine hand, fair Princess!" More laughter.

"What are you talking about?" said Ron.

"Approach then, Brave Neville, that I might grant thee this boon of sacrifice."

"Oy!" said Ron. "Hello? Knock, knock. It's me! What's with the grub, Gin?"

"So..." said Neville, "Might I still call you Etherea from time to time? It's a lovely name."

Luna smiled. "Of course. We're best friends."

"But 'Luna' is a beautiful name too," said Neville.

Ron took a step back and stared at Neville's face. He'd never seen him look so happy. Not ever. He was twelve now, Ron realised, but he looked a little more grown up than that – or maybe it was that he'd always seemed... immature for his age before?

"So...?" Ron began. Two first-year girls pushed past him and scurried towards their dormitory stairs. "Watch it!" cried Ron. He noticed then the general flow of youngsters being directed by Percy up to bed. The entire common room was busy with movement and noisy with chatter. Ron was immersed in it and yet felt... detached.

He frowned again. "Hermione, do you get the sensation that something's wrong?"

"So is Cadence," said Harry. "I love that name. And Hermione is beautiful too." His face flushed terribly as he realised what he'd said. "I mean, you can't abbreviate it can you, not nicely."

Hermione smiled. "You're not bad yourself, Harry."

Ron snapped, "Hermione! I'm talking here!"

"You second-years better not be up much later either!" called Percy as he shepherded the final first-years up to their dorm.

Hermione yawned. "He's right. We haven't got our timetables for tomorrow yet so I want an early start. Think I'll sort out my – hey! which dorm are you two in?"

Hands on hips, Ron stared in disbelief.

"We're with you of course," said Ginny, gesturing up the stair. "The other dorms had no more space either so we chatted with the elves and they enlarged your room." She headed off in the way she'd been pointing. "Come on, let's have a pillow fight!"

Quickly following her, Luna shrieked. "I love pillow fights! We had them every week at Beauxbatons!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well we do not indulge in such childish behaviour here at Hogwarts." Yet she hurried after them.

From the top of the stair, Luna exchanged waves with Neville then he and Harry headed to the boys' stairs. "Have you sorted out your stuff yet, Harry?"

"No rush. I'll leave it till tomorrow."

Ron's mouth was gaping now. He sank down onto the seat that Ginny had vacated, certain that he'd been cursed. A prod at the nearest pasty didn't move it at all. His eyes fell on the poker that Neville had discarded. After staring for a while, he kneeled down and reached for it, fearing the worst. He couldn't lift it. Somehow it eluded his grip.

"FRED! I'll kill you!" He ran down to where the twins were sitting with Lee. All three were quite expressionless; they seemed to be having a gag-fight and there were three shiny Galleons in a jar at stake.

George was saying, "If we're all here to help others then why are THEY here?"

Fred said, "I hate it when I accidentally talk to myself in the mirror."

"Actually, polishing mirrors is something I could see myself doing in detention next week," said Lee.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!" bellowed Ron.

"Seriously though, can you tell me how to get rid of my boomerang?" said George.

Fred's mouth twitched.

"OUT! OUT! OUT!" gloated Lee and George, pointing at Fred.

George threw another Galleon into the jar and speeded up. "I had a real eye-opener when I woke up this morning."

Lee threw his extra Galleon in and snapped back, "I haven't slept for days – that would be far too long."

"I didn't speak to Mum all summer – I didn't want to interrupt her."

"My sister worries she's fat and ugly and I said at least you've got good eyesight."

George wiped a smirk of his face but wasn't fast enough.

Up jumped Lee, rattling the jar. "I reign supree–ee–eeme! Nah-nah-ni-nah-nah!"

Percy shook his head and began to approach them.

"Percy!" cried Ron with some relief. Here at least was someone he could rely on to be sensible. "They're freaking me out!"

Percy brushed by him. "Will you please stop this racket!"

Ron windmilled his hands in front of Percy. The older boy didn't even flinch. Ron turned away, chilled inside suddenly. _They can't see me. Nobody can hear me._

He looked back one more time. Percy was still chastising the twins. Ron waited. As Percy, angry-faced, walked back, Ron slapped him hard across the face but his palm skidded off without even stinging. Percy didn't even notice – though he did vaguely rub away an itch on his face as he went on his way.

.

Limited Perceptions

Ron was miserable. He'd failed to get into his dorm before Dean shut the door on him for the night and so for two or three hours he sat in Ginny's former chair in the common room. Not long after midnight a house-elf cleaned up around him, disposing of the box of cold pasties and even standing on Ron's stomach to brush away a few crumbs wedged in the seam of a cushion. About two-thirty the boy nodded off and did not awaken until six-thirty when Oliver Wood sat on him while he did up his shoelaces, passed generous wind, and scratched himself covertly before heading off for breakfast. Ron followed him, leaping nimbly through the Portrait hole before it closed.

The Great Hall was not yet crowded and Ron took a seat near a serving dish full of bacon rashers. They smelt good, so, without even trying to use a fork, he leaned forward and tried to bite one. He could taste it in a diluted sort of way, and slip his tongue over it, but it eluded any serious purchase by his teeth. After sucking on the juices for a while, he swallowed and sat up with a sigh. A tureen of porridge caught his eye and he plunged in his mouth like a horse at a trough and tried to swallow. Certainly he was absorbing a little, and its flavour was not too weakened, but the task was hard work compared to the reward.

Lacking the appetite for anything else he looked around. More students were streaming in so he removed himself quickly before he was sat on again. The staff were arriving and Ron idly wished he could pour the steaming porridge over Snape's head. The world seemed to be continuing quite happily without him: Ernie was chatting with the Fat Friar, Draco appeared to be relating his entire last year's experience to those around him who would listen, and – ah! Harry and the rest of the gang were coming in the door.

As they took their places, Luna was saying, "So I'm looking forward to taking Care of Magical Creatures next year." She helped herself to a pile of whole grain toast and began spreading the top one with lashings of marmalade. "Until then I can explore the Forest for Bowtruckles and – oh, I expect it'll be full of abominable snowbabies around Christmas! They must be so cute!"

"Uuh... if they're cute, won't that mean they're not erm... abominable?" said Ginny.

"All babies are cute, Ginny, everyone knows that, and all yetis are abominable as well. So their babies must be abominable _and_ cute. Stands to reason."

"You can't go in the Forest, nobody can," said Harry. "Didn't you hear the Headmaster yesterday?"

"They weren't at the Opening Feast, remember?" said Hermione, who'd been gazing wistfully back and forth between a bowl of cornflakes without sweetener and a delicious sausage cob oozing with calories.

"Luna, you can help me gather herbs and fungi at the edge of the trees," said Neville to Luna. "I often see little creatures."

Ginny said, "No, we were sorted in the Deputy Headmistress's office. We had to discuss our test results and she gave us supplementary booklets."

"What for?" said Hermione.

"I'd like that, Neville," said Luna through a mouthful of toast, "and perhaps the abominables will come to us. They love people. Nothing more tasty."

Ginny said, "Well, we didn't cover a few things in the Hogwarts curriculum but we're ahead on others so when those classes come up we are supposed to study the booklets and catch up on the parts we missed in first year – oh, look!"

Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor table, handing out timetables. "Miss Granger, a word if you please."

Hermione had anticipated this. She held out a document which McGonagall took and began to examine. "You have a second-year qualification as well?"

Hermione nodded. "So...?"

"Very well, carry on giving your Potions lessons as before; I'm sure the Headmaster will be agreeable and the results of your students last year were – well, they were all outstanding."

"Thank you, Professor."

But McGonagall was frowning at the last remaining second-year timetable she had in her hand. She glanced around, then handed it to Ginny. "Give that to your brother next time you see him, would you?"

Ron jerked to attention, but as McGonagall moved on, Ginny's attention was focused solely on her eggs and bacon and the timetable slipped from her hand. "Oh this is heaven! They simply couldn't make real crispy bacon at Beauxbatons."

When Ron leaned over to look more closely, there could be no doubt. The schedule had his name at the top. He'd been overlooked yet again and after listening to his friends chat for a while, he moved away; it was very dispiriting to never get a mention in their conversations. He might as well be–

"Dead!" Ron's eyes bulged. "I'm dead!" It was so obvious now. "I'm a ghost!" What had happened? How had he died? And yet...

He strode off towards Ernie and the Fat Friar. The jolly spirit was perfectly visible; why wasn't Ron?

"Excuse me..." said Ron.

"But you can smell the food?" Ernie was asking the Friar.

"Almost," said the ghost sadly.

Ron pulled up short. _He_ himself could smell and even taste the food, perhaps he wasn't dead at all! "I say..."

But the Fat Friar was drifting away after being reminded by Ernie of his limited perceptions. Even he hadn't noticed Ron Weasley sinking down onto the nearest bench and putting his head in his hands in despair.

 _In between?_ That was it! Ron jumped up again. He must be in some intermediate limbo before becoming a ghost proper. Later, he'd be able to walk through walls and travel anywhere within the castle, even... He smirked as he contemplated the girls' showers. Perhaps there might be compensations for being dead after all. And no classes or homework! Yes, this might work!

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _1000 points to Gryffindor if you worked out who Etherea really was! Tiny hints were there in the story but I doubt anyone suspected. Yes, I really tightened the screws on poor Neville this last year but he's found his happiness at last._ :)

 _This Book 2 is the third of a planned eight, novel-length books (Books 0 to 7) each one being a complete story but included in this one long fic. Currently I'll be adding chapters about every 8 to 10 days. I'm temporarily marking the fic 'complete' at the end of each book to give readers who filter for completed stories a chance to read the finished books._

 _So, here we are on the threshold of all-new Hogwarts adventures, challenges, dreadful villains, and above all, friendship. Enjoy!_

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	53. 2:The Unnoticeable Boy

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school – but Ron is convinced he has died and is becoming a ghost. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 53**

 **The Unnoticeable Boy**

* * *

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Absent and Forgotten

The largest-ever group of Crestors had gathered in Room 4J for their first meeting of the school year. Harry and Hermione waited until they were sure everyone had arrived. Harry checked off his list, frowning here and there as if in confusion, but after scanning the faces, he finally declared, "All present!"

A podium had been raised at the head of the classroom so everyone could see the trio standing there. Harry stood in the centre, making clicking noises with his wand to draw attention. Hermione, arms folded, was happy to be one step back on his left. Neville stood proudly on Harry's right. The boy was transformed and there were many in the room who were staring at him with curiosity.

"Crestors," began Harry, "you can see we're uuh... bigger this year."

Laughter rippled around the room, and not a few cheers.

"But everyone here is proven to be reliable, trustworthy, and really helpful to all of us. We've got three Weasleys now: Fred and George most of you already know, but Ginny is new to Hogwarts," he pointed at her, "and, despite her size, a formidable fighter" – Harry winced and rubbed his elbow at the memory of an old bruise – "so uumm..." he grinned with a broad wink, "no need to be noble in the training duels, right guys?"

Ginny glared at Harry amidst the laughter, but Harry continued, "Her best friend Luna is a thinker, so don't underestimate her either." He gestured towards the girl who was gazing up at the ceiling and counting on her fingers.

Michael Corner sniggered to Anthony Goldstein, "A thinker?"

It was only a murmur but everyone heard it in the silence that had fallen on the group. Everyone except perhaps Luna who was still counting fingers and mused half to herself, "Shouldn't there be four Weasleys?"

Harry tried not to grimace. Most of the crowd looked puzzled. Hermione alone looked thoughtful.

"I expect another will be along eventually," Luna added brightly.

As Harry shrugged and carried on introducing the newcomers, nobody, including Luna, realised that Ron was watching from the back of the room, and looking very miserable indeed.

After the introductions, Harry continued, "For those of you new to Crest, we know you're eager to learn how to protect yourselves, but for you old-timers, do not relax your guard for a second. Despite what it says in the Daily Prophet, dark forces are at work behind the scenes all the time. George, would you tell everyone about the owl that Percy received from your dad?"

One of the twins stepped forward; Harry wondered if it was really Fred but he sounded serious enough to be George when he said, "Yes, while we Weasleys were away on holiday all summer, somebody broke into our house. Now, for a long time we've had very strong wards protecting our home so it could not have been ordinary robbers. The shields were set up under the supervision of my brother Bill who is a professional curse-breaker and often has to devise ways through advanced protection. He said it would have taken hours or days of expert spell-cracking to find a way in. Now it's not a... erm... luxury mansion, so no common burglar would bother making all that effort just to steal a few old tables and chairs, would they?"

Justin spoke up, "Then what did they take?"

"Well that's the thing," said the other twin, "apart from the broken wards, some old messages on the letter rack had been disturbed, and bedroom doors were found open, but Dad said nothing was missing as far as he could tell. It was almost as if–"

"But the same happened to us!" cried Parvati. "Ginny, you were lucky if you were on holiday because my mother said they must have been slavers looking for beautiful young witches to sell in the far east." She shuddered.

Luna frowned. "Why would they?"

Lavender giggled. "Honestly, Luna, if you're a thinker, surely you've thought about you-know-what?"

"What?"

" _s. e. x.?"_

"Sex? Oh, yes, I've thought about it lots." – Neville blanched at this point and cringed a step back from the front of the podium hoping nobody would notice him – "But why take girls all the way to the far east?" continued Luna, resuming her interest in the ceiling. "Seems a waste of a good journey," she continued dreamily. "I'm sure there must be wicked Englishmen who would pay millions for beautiful young witches so they can–"

"ERM, YES, thank you, everyone," cried Harry. "More seriously, keep your wands handy at all times, even in bed, and practise the spells taught in Crest, and above all – keep safe."

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Prospects

A week or two passed in which Ron had partly accepted his strange condition of being unseen and with changed senses. Touch was weak, light, non-reactive and almost slippery. He was never unpleasantly hungry or thirsty or tired, though with patience he could absorb a little of both food and drink and sleep as he wished. Bathing was neither possible nor necessary because even dirt seemed to ignore him and never stuck to or sullied his skin and clothes.

The unnoticeable boy was free to wander anywhere in the castle whenever doors were even briefly open and observe activities he would never normally see – as well as listen to interesting conversations. There were no demands made on him, no arguments, and, after suffering very little impact when jumping down from tables and ledges, he discovered he could even leap out of high windows without harming himself. He fell at normal speed but the ground didn't seem to react normally to his impact. The experience made no sense at all to Ron, but what did he know about the transition to being a fully incorporeal ghost?

Getting back inside the castle was a little more tricky – though Hagrid almost always came into the castle at about the same times of day for meals, and there were plenty of other opportunities. Being dead was... interesting, and in some ways, satisfying, which helped counter the disappointments.

The magical wards around the perimeter walls and gate would likely be a barrier but he'd yet to test that theory. In any event, if he was obliged to haunt the school, possibly he would not be able to leave easily. Nevertheless, with his near-absolute freedom within Hogwarts there were so many areas to explore, and things to learn by eavesdropping.

One downside was that he'd had to learn to avoid his old friends; it was just too painful to have been forgotten by them all so quickly after his demise. Had they never really cared much for his company when he'd been alive? Hermione would never forget Harry so quickly, and, after observing Neville's interest in Luna for the last couple of weeks, it was obvious the boy would be mortified if anything happened to her. As for Ginny... should Bill or any of his older brothers pass away, then Ron knew she'd grieve for months. He'd been close to his sister so felt hurt deep inside; the emotional pain was almost more physical than this new, tenuous world.

He missed magic too. Unable to draw his wand, he was reliant entirely on his fingers and his wits. A page in an open book could often be turned after several minutes of scrabbling. It was fun to lose someone's place in a textbook when they weren't looking. "Curse this draughty old castle!" the victim would say when they occasionally spotted a page wafting over apparently by itself. Snape and the twins were two of his favourite targets whereas Crabbe and Goyle generally didn't even notice they'd missed a complete topic, or even were reading the same page twice.

But after a month, the novelty was beginning to wear off. He'd made no progress towards full ghostliness so was not yet able to tell his old friends what he thought of their quick dismissal of his company. How much longer? He imagined himself one day with a white beard and long, crooked fingernails that–

He stared at his fingers. The nails hadn't noticeably grown at all since the last day of the holidays when his mother had neatly sanded them down with her manicure spell. Of course! Ghosts didn't age at all through the months and... years, but remained just as they had died.

He stared forlornly at the great marble staircase that rose up in the Entrance Hall and somehow it no longer looked beautiful. Nearly-headless Nick had been trapped in the castle for centuries! It was hard to accept that he himself would be doomed to this everlasting penance long after his friends had all left. A grievous loneliness shrouded his thinking and he sank into a deeper level of wretchedness.

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Old Memories

Midway through October, fires were being lit, adding cosy warmth to common rooms and dormitories alike. The corridors could still be chilly though, especially if you walked through one of the resident ghosts. Hermione heard Nearly Headless Nick muttering about his up-and-coming five hundredth deathday party and steered Harry away from him. "Trust me, you don't want to risk getting invited," she said. "Stinking, rotten food, black candles, and awful sawing dirges to dance to..."

As they headed upstairs, she smiled despite the awfulness of the memory from her former life. "I remember Moaning Myrtle being upset by Peeves, and Ron's teeth were chattering so much with the cold that we..." She paused on the next step and looked around with a puzzled expression on her face. "Where _is_ Ron, by the way?"

"Uumm...?" murmured Harry from above, but he didn't stop.

"Don't tell me he skipped Charms!" She smoothed one hand over her bushy hair trying to recall where Ron had sat in Charms then she shrugged and resumed their upward path. "It's funny, you know, this was the year you and he went to rescue Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets; how different things are now.

"The what?" Harry didn't look back.

She stopped again. The more she thought about how courageously her two friends had descended to that deadly place with no idea what awaited them, the more she appreciated how noble and courageous _both_ of them had been. _I should tell him. Ron has always underestimated himself._

Resolved to bolster up Ron's ego the next time she saw him, she swiftly added his name as a reminder to her personal organiser then hurried after Harry towards the Gryffindor Tower. Her eyes scanned the common room. Ginny, Luna, and Neville were dropping their schoolbags against a side table and flopping down into chairs but Ron wasn't with them. Frowning, she sent Harry up to his dorm to see if he was already there. Ten minutes later he returned.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Was he there?"

"Dean or Seamus? They're both up there."

"Uumm..." Hermione tried to recall why she might want to speak to either of them.

Neville had pulled a scrapbook out of his bag and opened it upon the tabletop. A dried leaf lay there. "I found this yesterday, Luna. It must have blown quite a way because I couldn't see the tree. I think it's Alihotsy. They don't cause hysteria this time of year. I'm going to look for it on Saturday if you want to come."

She nodded vigorously. "We should find a Glumbumble first then, just in case."

Hermione sighed. "You're not supposed to enter the Forest, Neville – remember?"

"We'll talk to Hagrid. I always stay on the fringes and don't go out of sight."

A frown creased Hermione's brow. Distracted by what Neville had said, she'd lost her train of thought. There'd been a name on the tip of her tongue, but try as she might, she could not recall it.

.

Ron's Speech

By December, Ron was in a bad way. He'd found Professor Trelawney's stash of cooking sherry and regularly slurped on the leftovers in her wineglasses. An hour or two's sucking did not ease his misery but at least distracted him from it. While still woozy, he'd often visit the Great Hall at mealtimes to address the students from the Headmaster's chair – whether the Headmaster was in it or not. There is a natural sense of distance between an orator and his audience which helped obscure his lack of intimacy with anyone. Humour also helped him to keep up his spirits.

"My dear students, I must express disappointment in your recent test results. By not scoring any points at all, you've established a new all-time low record for the school. I ask you to set your standards higher. Be inspired by the example of our wonderful Head Boy and Quidditch champion, Ronald Bilius Weasley – me – who was recently offered the post of Minister for Magic but declined in favour of remaining here for your admiration and appreciation as youngest Headmaster since forever."

The students continued with their meals and conversations but there was sufficient attention towards his central position at the staff table to create the illusion of their interest, some even staring right through him at Dumbledore.

"I have decided that all of Slytherin house will remain in permanent, all-year-round detention each night scrubbing my personal toilet with their own toothbrushes until daybreak."

He waved his arms airily. "Thank you, thank you. Now will all those girls who wish to spend the night with me in my royal suite in the new centre tower, please queue up at the usual place for inspection and scoring."

At that moment, a second-year girl who had been one of the Dumbledore-starers, happened to stand up, startling Ron for a moment. She seemed undecided, as if wondering if she dare approach the Headmaster.

Distracted, Ron tried to continue his speech. "Offerings of money, food, uumm... will be graciously..."

His eyes widened. The girl really was walking forward to talk to Dumbledore! He decided she was quite pretty, somewhat intimidated – who wouldn't be? – and, wearing the blue insignia of Ravenclaw, she'd be smart.

"Young miss, you show great intelligence jumping the queue to offer yourself. For this, I bestow upon you my mighty intellect and magnificent body to serve you through the cold nights. I shall not shirk one inch in–"

"You can see me?" she said in a very faint, shaky voice.

Ron almost fell off Dumbledore's knee. It was uncanny and very unnerving how she appeared to be gazing directly into his own eyes. He waited for the real Headmaster's response to her strange question.

"You can, can't you?" and her whisper was lost amidst the general chatter all around them.

Dumbledore's soup spoon clattered down and he reached around Ron's waist to push away his empty dish. Ron was very curious now to see what would follow.

"Pass the buttered turnips would you please, Minerva?" said Dumbledore.

The girl remained silent now. Tears began to stream down her cheeks and she rubbed them away with the flat of her palms. Her hands and face were quite pale as though she hadn't seen much sun in a long time. Her mouth moved as one wishing to speak but only sobs came from between her lips.

At a loss for words himself, Ron could only stare back at her. If Dumbledore was ignoring her then...

"Merlin's fat arse!" Ron wriggled out of Dumbledore's lap and tumbled onto the floor at the side of the great golden chair. After a failed struggle to think straight, he raised his head tentatively to peep over the tabletop. The girl was still there. And she definitely was not looking at Dumbledore.

"Can you help me?" she whimpered.

"Uumm..." Ron scratched his head and stood up. Pretty-girl-begging-for-help mode instinctively kicked in. "Erm... yes?"

She screamed. Not just any ordinary scream, but a deep primal shriek beginning in her abdomen and amplified by a larynx that trumpeted like an elephant rescued from a mighty thorn.

"Whoa! Don't..." began Ron, but the girl lunged forward and grabbed at his outstretched wrist with slender white fingers. In a further swift movement she had hauled herself onto the table with one knee in Dumbledore's steaming turnips and the other perilously close to the gravy boat.

"Hit me!" she cried.

"What?" Ron hesitated, frowning. "No – _you_ hit me!"

She did so. Without releasing his wrist, her other hand had swung around and slapped his cheek hard. It stung. So did her fingers for she was shaking them limply from the wrist. A cautious realisation began to show on both their faces.

He helped her down and they walked without considering anything else but each other. She had both hands gripping his arm now. "Who are you?" she said.

"Erm... Ron Weasley. You?"

"Olive. Olive Hornby."

"What happened to us, do you know?"

"I was poisoned. A nasty boy called Tom Riddle..." She winced. "The potion was cursed."

Ron gaped at her, confused. "You mean Voldemort? The demon bit you?"

The young girl was closely watching Ron's lips move, observing that they formed words exclusively for herself, and not quite believing the boy was actually speaking to _her_. So absorbed was she that some seconds passed before she shook her head in reply. "They held me down... made me drink it."

Ron stopped. They'd reached the Entrance Hall but neither of them knew it. "Let me get this straight – _who_ made you drink _what?"_

"Avery and Lestrange. I don't know what the potion was but I know Riddle wanted us to suffer – Myrtle and Irma and me. I've tried to find out in the library. I've searched the Headmaster's study. I've been all over the school so many times..."

They resumed walking, she holding onto Ron and repeatedly looking sideways at him for fear he might disappear or turn out to be one of the many wishful hallucinations she'd suffered. When she finally spoke again, Olive appeared to choose her words very carefully, testing each one as they were made audible by vocal cords long-unused.

"I did find out that ... Professor Dumbledore knew Tom was searching for ... ways to live longer – forever if he could, even if he was only a spirit. ... He learned how some people remained imprinted in this world when they died so he ... murdered one of us ... to test the method he'd discovered. Poor Myrtle will probably remain a ghost forever.

"Moaning Myrtle!" spluttered Ron.

"Don't call her that! She was a lovely girl till Riddle broke her spirit!"

"Sorry," Ron said meekly. "Go on about what he did."

"He ruined Irma too, consigning her to drudgery and servitude in the library she was driven to hate. I think he extended her life as long as he could, but I'm not sure. In any case, every day is a very long one for her, and every year feels like ten. He stretched her out somehow, you see."

"Madam Pince? That old bag!"

"Stop! Stop! Please don't say those things. Irma was my best friend. We were all friends back then."

Ron stopped at the top of a flight of stairs and stared at her. "Wait. Wait a minute. Back then? Tom Riddle? Madam Pince must be seventy if she's a day. How old are you? How long have you been like this?"

"I'm still twelve. I'm doomed to remain the same forever. I've been here over fifty years and I'm still twelve. I've never had an injury or illness – not even caught a cold. My hair hasn't grown at all and even my clothes don't show any wear – I suppose because of their long contact with me."

Ron looked at his fingernails again; they still remained exactly as at the end of the previous summer. "Blummin' 'eck!"

"Riddle developed the potion to slow down body rhythms almost to a stop while the mind remained free, but the brew drastically reduced interaction with the world and the world never notices anything so far out of normal time. I tried smearing a short message on a wall in the Great Hall. The most I could do was always very faint and it took me months to finish a few words. The first part had faded long before then or the house-elves had cleaned it off, I'm not sure which. The cursed potion is like an overwhelming Notice-me-not charm. The disadvantages far outweigh the benefits so Tom never used it on himself."

"That means Dumbledore never noticed me sitting in his lap even when his arm skidded around me to reach something? I wonder how that works?"

She nodded. "Yes, it's the same as when you step over or around something so unimportant you don't even remember doing it. That timeless effect means nobody can detect or interact with you. They just brush off or slide around you without realising or caring."

They walked on to an open window but neither of them looked out, both being totally absorbed in the responses of the other.

"What about you?" she said. "If you know exactly what potion you drank then we might be able to reverse its effect. I've been studying Potions from books for decades but brewing is near-impossible in our state."

"Me?" Ron thought back to the day he'd arrived back at Hogwarts. "I never drank anything. I never even got to have dinner." He frowned angrily. "I never even got a pasty!"

"You must have drank something! Think, Ron!" She clutched his arm more strongly.

His face screwed up in concentration for a while but he shook his head.

Olive fidgeted worriedly. "The effect should have been almost immediate; it was with me. You must remember!"

"No, my family came over from a holiday in France and I definitely never had anything since leaving Beauxbatons. Even McGonagall never gave us a cup of tea. Anyway, my sister is fine and she was with me all the time. We went down to the kitchens together then took refreshments back to our common room, but I never got to enjoy any of it."

Olive's shoulders sagged. "Without the counter-potion, we're lost – stuck like this forever."

Ron tried to reassure her. "At least we can talk to each other now. I thought I'd go mad on my own."

She adjusted her grip even more firmly on his arm and he perfectly understood why. That one connection with normal solid reality was their only anchor in troubled waters. The look in her eyes conveyed the imploring desperation he felt within himself too.

Olive led him that night to a tiny unused chamber in which were jammed three spare beds, one of which she'd been sleeping on in recent years. Uncomfortable at having broken true physical contact, they lay looking across at each other for a while before both fell into a troubled slumber. When Ron awoke in the night he found her fast asleep beside him, two hands clasping his arm. He understood completely. It was their only way of hanging onto reality, a sense of security, and... sanity.

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Resolutions

A particularly heavy fall of snow was dumped on Hogwarts just before the Christmas holidays. Both Luna and Neville had firmly decided to stay together at the school. It was hard to keep them apart since they were so often seen with their fingers gently touching or even entwined in a childlike way. Furthermore, Neville, who daily reminded himself he'd be thirteen 'in a few months', considered himself old enough to have his first proper kiss and was girding himself up to take advantage of the mistletoe season to peck her on the cheek. He smiled to himself. If he was quick he could say sorry after, and the memory would be worth a hundred apologies or a thousand face-slaps. He'd never have dared with a princess but Luna was much more than his beloved Etherea – she _was_ the princess but warmer, closer, and not pretend-haughty at all. She'd understand that his desire to express affection was overwhelming and irresistible, wouldn't she? Pity might make her tolerant of his moment of weakness.

Meanwhile, Luna was equally resolved to _avoid_ Mistletoe at all costs and take advantage of Neville instead. She had a compelling ambition to lead him into the narrowest alcove in the castle, there to whisper some tender words so closely to his face that surely he could not resist moving his lips that last inch? That was her earnest hope anyway because she'd noticed he'd been studying her face quite closely for a long time now – since they'd met actually. Failing that, her intention was to simply ask him. Princess Etherea would never stoop so low as to beg a commoner, but the many other sides of Luna Lovegood had no such inhibitions.

Oblivious to the other girls preparing for bed, she studied her mouth in the dormitory mirror, pouting, twisting, contorting it in different directions to evaluate the effect. Finally she settled on a shy little smile. Luna had noticed Neville react favourably to that expression before. If she upturned her face in submission then might his eyes widen? Perhaps even shine a little in adoring gratitude? Their lips would touch in everlasting bliss...

Parvati and Lavender, each curled up in their respective beds, exchanged what they thought were knowing smirks – but neither of them had yet experienced that first passion themselves except in daydreams. Luna would be queen of the dorm if she could achieve her ambition.

Hermione looked on with a wise smile then turned back to her bedtime novel: _The Pirate's Plaything_. The swashbuckling hero had dark, tousled hair, and somehow she always visualised him wearing spectacles...

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Missing

As the Hogwarts Express trundled and rattled its way back to London, Harry Potter was gazing out of the steamy window wondering how far south the snow extended and whether he might build a snowman in the garden of Grimmauld Place for his baby sister.

Ginny, sitting opposite, also glanced out now and again but in a more cranky way. At Beauxbatons she'd known where she stood, pairing neatly with her best friend Luna Lovegood, and enjoying the novelty of a French style of living. There had been a stable, reliable balance in which both had delighted. Now Luna was bonding with Neville and had stayed behind at Hogwarts – separated utterly from Ginny for the first time in over a year. Hermione and Harry were also far closer these days even when, as now, they were occupied with other things. And when Ginny had decided to return to England, she'd somehow expected _more_ best company, not less. There had been a definite promise of other kinship that had not been fulfilled. She couldn't quite put her finger on it but it niggled her nevertheless. What was missing? Or who?

Hermione was comfortably beside Harry as usual, reviewing her personal planner and optimising it for the coming new year. One entry made no sense and she wondered if it had been jotted down in a rush. The brief note had been entered on October the eighteenth and said simply, ' _Ron?'_ Why on Earth had she put his name down there?

The more she tried to think about anything that Ron might have done last term, the more she realised how uneventful and unmemorable their second year had been so far. Not like her former life, she mused to herself with a smile. By now he'd rescued Harry from the Dursleys, driven a flying car all the way to Scotland, crashed into the Whomping Willow, broken his wand, nearly got expelled, gone to a deathday party, discovered a message written in blood and... she looked across the compartment to where he often sat. "Where _is_ Ron, anyway?"

For a moment, something connected within Ginny, as if she'd discovered an answer but couldn't remember the question. She shrugged. "Dunno. Probably with uumm..." Ginny looked out of the window again wondering what she'd been about to say. The snow was patchy as they travelled through Yorkshire and the areas where it was absent seemed less pleasing than if there'd been no snow at all.

"Harry?" said Hermione.

"Mmm...?" He turned to her. "What's up?"

She looked at him feeling rather bewildered. What had she been meaning to ask him? "Uuh... nothing."

.

Being in One Place

As they stepped outside Hogwarts castle on Christmas morning, Luna shared with Neville her white fluffy Diricawl muff which possessed the amazing property of being in two places at the same time.

"I can feel your fingers inside!" cried the astonished Neville, as he pushed his hands within the warm furry barrel.

Luna looked back with a puzzled expression on her face as she skipped down the drift-covered front steps. "Well of course you can," she cried, raising her hands to show the very same muff that he was wearing. "You need two people to catch Diricawls so these are quite rare,"

"Yes, I heard that if there's danger, Diricawls vanish and reappear somewhere else," said Neville, as they began crunching away from the entrance.

Luna's laughter tinkled and echoed off the castle walls. "That's what they want you to think," she explained solemnly after she had mastered her convulsions. "But it's silly to suppose a big fat bird could fast travel invisibly, don't you see? No, they simply run ahead of themselves and if it's safe then they catch themselves up."

Neville thought about that for a while but eventually gave up with a low chuckle.

Off they veered in the direction of Hagrid's hut. From afar, they saw Fang come bounding out to meet them. They waved and pointed to the Forest and saw Hagrid's steamy breath a moment before hearing his usual caution distantly booming, "Don' yeh go wanderin' beyon' the fringes, remember!"

"We won't!" they cried in response.

"I wish we could though, just for today," said Luna, after the boarhound had dropped into step beside them. "Abominables are probably having a merry time on the far side. They carve lanterns from blue ice and dance and sing through the night."

At the forest edge they slowed their pace and began scavenging, using their wands occasionally to clear around the boles of trees and reveal the old leaf litter.

They helped a Bowtruckle back into the icy tree from which it had slipped, and Luna chatted with a couple of crows – though whether they understood her, Neville could not tell. A decent ice mushroom was found but it was yellowing from an attack by vampire slugs so even Fang left it alone. There was interest for the youngsters wherever they looked and, of course, they had each other.

"Neville, it being a special day, I was thinking about being kissed later," said Luna as they approached the northern side of Hogwarts' perimeter walls. She squeezed his hands inside the warm muff and they stopped walking while Neville tried to catch his breath.

"I've given it a lot of thought actually," she continued. "There's a tiny recess on the fifth floor where Mr Filch sometimes stands waiting to pounce but he's not here today and I believe we can squash in if we try. What do you think?"

"Uuh... uuh... I... uuh..." panted Neville.

"Only, I'll be twelve in a few weeks but I'm a leap baby so times four."

"A w-what?" gasped Neville. "I thought ... you ... born in ...1981?"

"I was, but it was after midnight on the twenty-eighth and the healer was very tired because I was a real nuisance so she put down the twenty-ninth without thinking."

"That's ... incredible."

"It is. Nobody believes me."

They'd reached a stout buttress in the north wall and took shelter from the cold breeze that occasionally dusted mists of snowflakes into the air to dance and swirl around them. Fang, undeterred by the cold, was darting after what he believed might have been a rabbit but was only a flurry of falling leaves.

As planned, Neville was very close to Luna. She felt a new sensation, a delicate warmth that began deeply within, then spread throughout her entire body.

" _I_ believe in you, Princess."

Touched, the corners of Luna's mouth curved naturally into a shy little smile and she tilted up her face in submission. Neville kissed her. For the longest moment their muff was in one place.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _In the author's notes at the end of chapter 51, I incorrectly referred to the next Book as 'Book 3'. While it is the third book in the series, it is, of course, named 'Book 2' (so they match Harry's years at Hogwarts. Sorry about that. I'll change it._

 _A reader advised me that 'pasty' has a different meaning in the States so it seems wise to inform you all that in the UK, 'pasty' is a wonderful and famous folder-over pastry containing meat and veg that can be served hot or cold. Also, in my innocence, I didn't know that 'muff' has another meaning until long after I wrote the above. Here in the UK it's an old-fashioned hand warmer, being a cylinder of fur or fabric into which you slip your hands instead of wearing gloves. Two magical lovers can wear the same Diricawl muff at the same time no matter how far apart they are because they will always catch each other up eventually._ :)

 _Yes, I did know that JK Rowling said on Twitter in 2015 that Luna's birthday is February 13th not March 1st but I thought (quite a while before 2015) that it's much more fun for her to be associated with the mad march hare (her Patronus is a hare, and well, she is a little bit mad) as well as causing confusion from the moment she was born!_ :)

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	54. 2:The Dome Of Thorns

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school – but Ron has become totally unnoticeable except to one girl, Olive Hornby, who is similarly affected due to a potion. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 54**

 **The Dome Of Thorns**

* * *

.

The Unlikely Pair

Neville and Luna were not the only couple to visit the Forbidden Forest. Once the snows cleared in the New Year, Ron and Olive themselves took to wandering within the trees. They were an unlikely pair driven into an even more surprising location by a thirst to escape the castle and to explore the extent of their limited domain.

"No, I never wanted to come in here alone," Olive replied to a question from Ron.

"Why? Nothing can harm us."

Nevertheless, as ever, they clung to each other almost continuously, particularly Olive to Ron because of the decades she had endured in isolation.

They discovered Thestrals far off amongst the trees quite early in their walks. Olive caught her breath and pointed, "Can you see them?"

Ron nodded.

"You can?"

"Those black horses with wings?"

"They're Thestrals. The book I read said you can only see them when someone you know dies, and it affected you strongly."

Ron shook his head. "My great-uncle was killed in a nasty incident with some wild horses. It upset my mum but... perhaps that rubbed off on me?"

"Did you see the body? I found poor Myrtle and I was nearly sick with fright."

"No. Mind you, he needed two coffins at the funeral; does that count?"

It was midday when they were startled by several centaurs that thundered by so closely that both Ron and Olive cried out in alarm. They watched the creatures disappear amongst the trees, then the two of them continued on their way unharmed.

They became almost fearless after that encounter and, although they'd planned to turn back at noon so as to avoid walking in the cold and dark, now such considerations seemed irrelevant.

"We're indestructible!" gloated Ron. Prancing around in a circle with Olive still clutching his sleeve.

She punched him playfully on the arm. "Not if I bash you hard enough."

He stared at her face long and hard. "Olive, you're smiling!"

She felt her jaw. "Am I? I wondered what that strange sensation was."

Deeper they went, finding variations in the trees and foliage. Ron had a glimpse of a unicorn and Olive was disappointed to have missed the experience.

"Oh, drat! To have come this far and missed such a beautiful creature!" she pouted.

Ron said, "Olive, we can come back as many times as we want. Or we can stay here as long as we like and watch out for the unicorns."

She brightened up after that.

They came across a pretty stream and, since it wound its way through the trees roughly in the direction they were travelling, they followed it for most of the afternoon. The secluded pool that it tumbled into was fun. They swam but could not easily sink. They dived but could not drown. They emerged yet were not wet. The couple heard each other laugh for the first time.

It was dusk when they finally rested on the soft moss at the water's edge, gazing at their reflections and soaking up the delight of being able to interact.

Ron talked about his family and how he wished he'd kept more in touch with his older brothers. Olive said she'd also had an older brother but he'd died only a few years earlier.

"His death was mentioned only briefly in the Daily Prophet. I never really knew his wife – she'll be about seventy now if she's still alive. I can't even remember her name."

"Daggard..." murmured Ron to himself.

"What?"

"Oh, I was just thinking. Someone I knew. When she died, her picture was in the Prophet – I mean they actually showed her dead body. It shook me up a bit because it was rather gruesome. I wonder if that's why I can see Thestrals. I mean, I did know her when she was alive a few weeks before."

"Could be..."

They lapsed into their own thoughts for a while, unmoving, contemplative, and... content. The only sound was the gurgling of the stream as it surrendered to the pool. In the final light of day, a unicorn quietly approached the far bank. The stallion sniffed the air, snorted, then kept watch as his mare led their foal to drink. Ron and Olive watched transfixed for most of an hour until the creatures finally slipped back into the trees once more and darkness enfolded the Forest.

.

The Odd Roll Call

A formal roll call was now needed in Hermione's potions classes. Despite Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students begging to join, their timetables differed from the Gryffindors' so they were still obliged to be taught by Snape. However, the full complement of the Gryffindors from Snape's second-year class were now in attendance at her lessons so she dutifully sang out their names at the commencement. Somehow she never noticed the final name on the list, nor the extra dog-eared Tutomee still lodged in her beaded bag.

Her students cheerfully paired up and began brewing: Seamus and Dean, Parvati and Lavender, Fay and Sally-Anne, Neville and Luna, Harry with Ginny. Once this activity was underway, Hermione could relax a little. The children had their Tutomees for guidance if needed, as well as first being primed by Hermione and a comprehensive set of instructions remaining on the blackboard.

She leaned back in her chair watching out for anyone that might appear to need help. For some reason, the number eleven was nagging her brain but she could not think why. A glance at the day's page in her organiser did not help. The list of ingredients in the standard textbook agreed with her own, and none of them totalled eleven. What then?

Her eyes fell on the roll call she'd left out on her desk and she idly picked it up to store away in her bag:

 _Total: 11_

She frowned. Surely she'd not included her own name in the list? A quick count confirmed there were only ten names and a glance over her class showed five pairs. With a sigh she reached for her Eraser-quill but hesitated. How on Earth could she have made such an elementary mistake? And anyway, the names were each neatly numbered one to... eleven!

Annoyed with the conflict, she covered the names with another sheet of parchment and scanned down the digits on the left: 11. She looked up: five pairs. Her throat growled with irritation.

Down the list of names she went once more, rigorously reading out each one in her head then looking up to confirm the person was there. Ten! How could there be ten when there were eleven lines with digits and names?

"Excuse me, Hermione?" Sally-Anne had raised her hand. "How finely should we cut the giblet wafers?"

Hermione glanced at the blackboard. "What does the Tutomee say?" Her hand dug into her bag, skidded off the extra Tutomee, and found her own copy which she opened as she walked over to Sally-Anne. As she did so, she became aware that Professor McGonagall was stood at the back of the classroom observing, as she occasionally did; they nodded to each other.

"The giblets have to be shaved," Hermione told the book, and Sally-Anne and Fay saw the instructions appearing in their own Tutomee.

Harry and Ginny groaned. "We've already sliced them!"

"Sorry, everyone. The standard textbook is wrong and I spell-copied it to the blackboard. Mrs Lovegood would have used it when preparing the Tutomees as well. If you've already sliced, just use the shaving charm on the slices and they'll be fine. Careful with that spell, mind."

Once again Hermione took her seat at the head of the class, trying to recall what she'd been doing before the interruption. Frowning, she shuffled papers and books about, slightly embarrassed that McGonagall was approaching.

"Even after all my years of teaching," the professor said kindly, "hardly a week goes by without an error cropping up – sometimes my own. What's the trouble here?"

Hermione's hand had fallen on the roll call parchment. "Ah! Yes, I have a discrepancy in the total attendance."

"Someone missing?"

"I don't... no, there can't be." Hermione pushed the sheet over to McGonagall. "You know all these students by sight. Could you double-check this for me?"

The professor did so. Then, brow furrowed, she repeated the operation several times. "Someone has jinxed this," she finally said. "They've probably added a false number and a..."

Confidently, she cast her wand over the roll call, then looked puzzled when it revealed no magic had tampered with the list. Down went the tip of her finger firmly on the last name. "Ron Weasley..." she murmured, and looked around somewhat bemused.

Hermione stood up. Where was Ron?

McGonagall said, "Everyone on your list seems to be present. Good work, Miss Granger."

Still troubled, Hermione watched her leave, then she shrugged her shoulders, packed away her roll-call parchment, and began her normal patrol of the class to see if anyone needed her help.

.

New Growth

For more days than they counted, Ron and Olive moved deeper and deeper through the woodland, carefree and forgetful of the seriousness of their condition. The invisible, timeless state of their existence, which had conflicted so terribly with normal everyday life amongst people, blended almost perfectly with nature. Only the changing season suggested to them that spring was not far off.

"New leaves!" cried Olive, clapping her hands. "We'll be able to chew Alihotsy if we can find some."

"Percy warned me they make you hysterical. Fred was trying to slip some in with my cabbage once."

"Not the newest leaves! And not to us! I found some near Hagrid's hut, oh... years ago. They have different sweet flavours and they make you... uuh... happy! Look for the treetops – they sort of lean over like the head of a hyena."

Unable to be injured by any fall, Ron took to climbing the tallest trees he could find.

Olive, slightly more cautious of heights, called up to him. "Can you see any?"

"No, but the Forest goes on forever in every direction so we'll keep heading east and with a bit of luck we'll find some." He jumped down with a "Wheee!" evoking a shriek from Olive.

"The trees do go on forever actually," she said.

"What?"

"Well, not forever but, according to _Hogwarts: A History_ , the Forest is bigger inside than outside."

Ron was about to blurt out, 'Impossible!' but stopped himself as he recalled the thousands of Galleons that Hermione's bag had held. The gold seemed like useless metal to him now.

Olive continued, "It's said you can walk around the perimeter wall in a day or two, but we've been walking almost due east for... how long?"

Ron thought for a few moments. "Weeks, I guess. I've lost track. What would happen if you started at the other side and headed west?"

"Same thing I suppose – but nobody can get past the wards that protect the walls, not even on a broomstick."

Ron stopped walking. "Blimey, I never thought to try a broomstick. Wonder if they'd work for us?"

She shook her head. "We could sit on a broom someone else is flying but it wouldn't respond to us at all. Anyway, I'm not really a broomstick person."

Ron laughed as they resumed their trek. "Olive, you've read everything in Hogwarts ten times over I should think. I'd have thought you'd have studied broomstick flying even if–"

"–Not everything. Only the things that interested me or subjects that might have been of use."

"Like broomsticks," grinned Ron.

"No, like counter-Potions."

.

Written Off

As the month of April grew nearer, the results of Hermione Granger's Potions tuition were better than ever. She estimated her eleven students were way ahead of Snape's and had a more thorough grounding in the principles – they understood what they were doing. The girl leaned back in her chair watching out for anyone that might need assistance. For some reason, the total number of students was nagging her brain but she could not think why. Perhaps it was because an odd number meant they could not all form pairs. And yet... they had. She could see the usual five pairs right in front of her.

Curious, she took out her roll call list. This was all very familiar as she scanned down the list, mentally pairing up the names in her head. But right at the end there was an unpaired name at No.11. For a long while she never thought to focus on it as she re-read all the other names, but finally common sense forced her: the name was Ron Weasley.

"Ginny, where's your brother today?"

"Uuh... no idea." She giggled. "How would I know Percy's timetable?"

"No, I mean Ron."

"Uumm... isn't he here? Oh, Harry! Stir it the other way!"

Hermione frowned and pulled out her planner. There'd been an entry somewhere...

She found it back on the eighteenth of October. Why had she entered Ron's name there? Somehow it felt important, especially since he...

A great struggle to concentrate took place in her head. Had something happened to Ron that she needed to consider?

Hermione made a new entry in her planner, putting down in brief anything about Ron that might be relevant in his second year at Hogwarts: Ford Anglia. Rescue. Whomping Willow. Chamber of Secrets. Lockhart's memory wipe. Ron's award for...

A chill went through Hermione. She'd put down nothing about Ron from her current life. _Someone's tampered with my memory!_ She knew the signs of course, having often cast them on others herself. Hermione well knew the difficulties of recalling hidden memories. Such tussles within the mind rarely succeeded without outside reminders such as a written record.

On she wrote, her quill furiously moving back and forth. It seemed to help when she dwelt on the memories of Ron from her former life – they were clearly intact. What about this life? His Sorting nearly a couple of years ago? Yes. Then there was his improved studies with–

She pulled out the extra Tutomee from her bag and stared at the inside page. There was Ron's name. There was another book much further down and she clawed it out. It was History and it was Ron's! Hermione turned to the first illustration of Witch Hazel.

"Hazel, where's Ron?"

"Erm... isn't he with you?"

"When was the last time he used this book?"

"Who?"

Things were getting really bad if even a magical illustration couldn't remember! _That's impossible,_ Hermione realised. _Magical pictures consist almost entirely of interactive memories!_

What then?

She continued recalling memories of Ron from her new life. Vanishing into Non-being – every memory appeared to be there but they were vague, transient, and it was hard to keep her mind on the task. The Galleons investments from Harry, Neville, herself, and...

Hermione slapped her own face, unaware that her students were now staring at her. _Pay attention! To what?_ said a little voice in her head. Seizing her planner she forced it into a more upright angle before her so if her mind wandered she could hardly overlook her own notes right in her face. _RON! RON! RON!_ Now it was a real battle of wills. _He had regularly written to Ginny while she was in France._

"GINNY!"

Ginny _eeked_ and leapt to her feet. "What?"

"Ron really missed you when you were at Beauxbatons!"

"He did? At Beauxbatons? Who did you say?"

A mighty groan erupted up from Hermione's midriff and exploded out of her mouth. "RON! RON! RON! WHERE IS HE!"

"He's not in this class, is he?" said Fay.

Hermione pointed at her. "Right! Right! Have you ever actually met him?"

"Who?"

"Do you mean Seamus?" Luna said, quite brightly, pointing at the boy. "He's right here."

Mock sobs shook Hermione. She wanted to bang her head on the wall. After a while she wondered why.

 _Get a grip, Hermione!_ She stared at what she'd written in her organiser. _Ron. Okay. Ron. Chamber of Secrets. Ford Anglia. Okay. Got it. Confundus? Possibly. But on everyone? Not likely. So... memory curse on Ron that stops everyone remembering him? Impossible. DISILLUSIONMENT! No... Unnoticeable?_

Hermione stopped right there. If someone had cast a powerful Notice-me-not charm on Ron then he could be right in this room! She stood up, carrying her organiser in front of her like a dowsing rod.

"Ron! Are you there? Speak if you can! Or make some sign. Knock something over! Write on the blackboard!"

Harry stood up beside Ginny, looking very worried. Others were getting to their feet too. "Hermione, are you alright? Who are you talking to?"

"Hush..." She put a finger to her lips and gazed around.

Nothing.

 _He might be anywhere! But if he's wandering about unnoticed, obscured from everyone's attention, surely he would have already given us some indication? A message?_

What could have caused this? Hermione considered many spells but had to keep breaking off to read her planner when she forgot why. _What kind of magic could be this powerful? To virtually write someone out of history_. Must be a curse by a very powerful wizard, she concluded, but why?

 _Where are you, Ron?_

.

The Blue Light

Ron growled at himself. He'd been foolish to climb one of the tallest trees in the forest this late in the evening. It had been a tough, time-consuming ascent and now the skyline to the east was almost lost in the gloom. Stars were becoming visible but there was no moon. Looking back the way they'd come, the horizon remained a faint glow but that would not last long as the sun had set almost an hour ago.

Olive's voice called up from the darkness below, "Anything?"

He shook his head, more in annoyance with himself than anything. "Can't see much at all now," he cried, gazing around one last time. Certainly the softness of night's approach was beautiful but...

A faint glimmer, a bluish hue, caught his attention, far off in the northeast. _What is that?_ he wondered. Ron squinted and stared but... had he imagined it?

Ron shrugged his shoulders and leapt from his branch. "Look out below! I'm coming down!"

"I hate it when you're up there," said Olive as he alighted, unhurt, beside her. "I hate having no proper..." She tried to think of the best way of describing her interaction with Ron.

"...contact," he finished for her. "I know. It's best to be occupied – keep your mind off it. Standing around is worse than being a ghost for us."

"Let's walk on then," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it for reassurance, "It's nice walking by starlight, and we can't hurt ourselves even if we walk into a tree."

"I can't see anything," grumbled Ron, pulling on her hand to hold her back.

"Did you look west to where the sun went down? Your eyes need to adjust."

"Yeah, but it wasn't bright. Which reminds me, I thought I saw a light in the forest, not strong but it was... maybe I imagined it."

"Which way? How far?"

"The way we've being going, only more northeast. It was miles and miles away. Couple of days walk at the speed we're moving, I'd guess. It was a bluish light – really weird."

"Maybe we'll come across it then. If you're interested, that is."

Ron shrugged in the dark but she felt it. He said, "I'll climb up tomorrow when we're a bit nearer. If it's still there then we might, I suppose."

.

The Returning Owl

Hermione was in a real dilemma. Ron was missing, possibly undetectable, and he could be anywhere – even still in France! Where to start searching, and what to search for?

"Harry..." she said tentatively, as the five friends worked on their Charms homework together early one evening in the common room, "if someone – let's say a Gryffindor boy – went missing, where would you start looking?" Hermione, still clinging to her organiser, stared at it regularly to keep her focus on Ron.

"Well, I'd uumm... tell the teachers?"

"But if they couldn't help?"

"Send him an owl?" said Neville. "Send a message asking him where he is?"

"Brilliant!" Hermione scribbled a note then headed for the Portrait hole. "Watch my stuff for me, would you, Harry?"

"You mean there really is a boy missing?" said Harry.

"Yes," Hermione called back.

"Ignore the direction!" cried Neville. "Owls won't usually head straight off on a direct bearing." He scrambled to his feet. "Hold on, I'll come with you."

Luna jumped up too and followed him. "This is exciting!"

When they reached the owlery, Hermione called for Farrimond who winged over to her immediately. "Farri, this is really, really important. Fly direct if you can so I can see where you're headed, okay? He's probably inside the castle so I'm going outside to see which window you go to."

Farrimond hooted as Hermione tied her note to his leg, then flew to the window where he stopped to perch, his head swivelling left and right.

"Who is it that's missing, Hermione?" said Neville.

"Uuh... missing?"

"Yes, you said someone's missing."

"Ah! She glanced down at her personal planner to refresh her memory. "Yes, it's Ron Weasley."

Luna and Neville exchanged puzzled glances.

Farrimond flew outside and Hermione rushed to see where he would go. She was disappointed when she saw him circling around before heading back to the owlery looking rather disappointed.

Hermione sighed. "It's alright, Farrimond. Nobody can even think about him, let alone figure out where he could be."

"Who?" said Neville.

As they walked back to the Gryffindor Tower, Hermione said, "Luna, when we saw you on the first day, didn't you say that Ginny had gone to the kitchens?"

"Yes. I still had to be sorted."

"But how would Ginny know where the kitchens are?"

"Oh, that's easy..." Her voice faltered and a puzzled frown creased her brow. "I think someone showed her."

Hermione nodded eagerly. "It was her brother. I'm almost sure you said they'd both gone."

"There _was_ someone with us... I think," said Luna. "Mr and Mrs Weasley had already left after speaking to the Headmaster. Fred and George had gone to have dinner before then. We were in Professor McGonagall's office."

"We?"

"Ginny and me."

"And...?"

"Uumm..."

"That's alright. It confirms that Ron came back from France with you and arrived here at the castle."

"Who?" said Neville.

But Hermione, still with one eye on her planner, continued, "And if Ginny went with him to the kitchens then she could see him up to that time..." She wrote in the organiser then looked up. "What then?"

"Ginny was in the common room when we got there," said Neville, "eating a pasty, remember?

"That's right, so where...?" Hermione's face cleared. "He might have nipped up to his dorm to check his trunk had arrived from France okay, or to fetch something..."

Hermione ran to the door of the owlery. "Come on! Ron's in difficulties! We have to check his dorm!"

"Who's dorm?" Neville panted at Luna as they ran after Hermione.

.

Up a Gum Tree

The same evening that Hermione decided to search in Ron's dormitory for clues about his whereabouts, Ron himself was literally up a gum drop tree in the Forest. Its many stout branches made it relatively easy to climb and it was the tallest tree he'd found so far. Furthermore, its tacky, slippery sap could neither gum him up nor cause him to slither off and drop.

However, he did not answer Olive's call, so distracted was he by what he could see. Down he came – falling intentionally but harmlessly as usual.

"The Forest looks different ahead – the trees are really thick and... strange; I can't make them out," he muttered to her. "I don't like it."

"Did you see the blue light?"

Ron shivered, but it wasn't because of the cool air – the memory of the curious illumination was somehow disturbing. "Yes, it's quite strong in one place then fainter beyond that. And another thing, I think I could see the farthest edge of the Forest near the horizon."

"The wall? You saw the outer wall of Hogwarts?"

"Well, no, the trees are in the way, but it looks like no treetops beyond that line, and I saw a hazy light in the sky. I think there's a big Muggle town that way."

"Do we go on?"

"Worth a look, I suppose," said Ron. "I mean, nothing can hurt us, right?"

They looked worriedly at each other.

"Nothing," replied Olive, but not very positively.

They hadn't walked far – not more than fifteen minutes – when they came across a small cluster of thorn trees which they skirted around – not for fear of being pricked but because the trees were so closely-packed. Within fifty paces, another such tree stood before them, then another, but, as they proceeded, few of these viciously-barbed obstacles were single; almost all were clumped tightly together in groups, as if they had grown out from each other – and perhaps they had. None had branches that Ron could grasp, and here and there upon their spiky boles were tangled knotty outgrowths of sharp foliage which came away in his hands when he tried to pull himself up.

As they continued their journey, the thorn trees began to dominate. The two children were zigzagging to find ways forward through what had become a spiky labyrinth. Their path was darker too, although stars were still visible overhead, yet, now they knew the nature of this area of the Forest could not trouble them, they lost their former concerns.

.

Pants

Gasping for breath after running all the way from the owlery, Hermione stopped partway up the stair to the boys' dormitories, unsure of herself. Why had she been rushing up here? She looked back down and could just glimpse Neville and Luna resuming their seats beside Harry in the common room. He looked up at Hermione in concern as they spoke to him. Slowly, she began to descend...

 _If in doubt, consult your organiser,_ whispered a little voice in her head.

She did so.

 _Ron! Of course!_ Turning around once more she resumed her ascent.

Within the dormitory, she looked around in confusion; there were only four beds! _So?_ she asked herself. _Harry, Neville, Seamus, and Dean..._

"What's going on, Hermione?" It was Harry, standing in the doorway, and staring at her with some concern.

"Uumm..." She consulted her planner again. "Ah! Right. Harry, where's–?" A fifth bed – _Ron's_ bed – was right there where it had always been, just as she remembered it in her former life. A fourposter with curtains apart and bedclothes as neat as when the house elves had last noticed it at the end of summer. She sat down upon its edge and grasped the pillow. "Harry, whose bed am I sitting on?"

"Erm..." Harry struggled within himself to remember, as if someone had pointed out an insignificant blade of grass in a large lawn. His eyes had passed over it everyday but without interest. "Ron's, isn't it?"

"Exactly. And where is he?"

Harry appeared puzzled by the question. "Who?"

Hermione released a long sigh and looked around. Ron's wardrobe was open! She stood up and went to examine it. His robes and cloak and shirts were hanging there! Spare shoes thrown in at the bottom of the cabinet and underthings shoved untidily onto the side shelves as if... her eyes turned to the trunk at the foot of Ron's bed; it was open!

"Hermione...?" Harry sounded worried. "You're starting to freak me out!"

But Hermione was staring down inside Ron's travel chest. The container was mostly empty but there were a few books and potions equipment remaining at the bottom: standard spell books, his cauldron, a mortar with a couple of pestles and a few boxed flasks. He must have been in a hurry if he'd not put those away yet – perhaps they'd been there since the end of the previous school year.

Harry heard Hermione's gasp of horror and rushed to her. "What is it?"

"That lesson with Snape! When we brewed Stultitia, remember?"

Harry frowned, trying to puzzle out what she meant, then alarm spread across has face. "But you never drank any of it! Anyway, it was harmless wasn't it?"

Hermione drew out her wand and with a rapid swish and flick, one of Ron's pestles hovered up out of his trunk – the wooden pestle. She studied it closely. Fine particles still adhered to its surface. "He never cleaned it. Ron used his ceramic pestle to finish the concoction to avoid contamination."

At a complete loss to understand her, Harry sank onto his own bed, unable to follow what Hermione was saying at all. "Who do you mean?" But she was thinking out loud now and frequently consulting her personal organiser and making notes:

"Likely he held the handle when he put it away after the lesson. ... But what if he carelessly grabbed it weeks later in his hurry after returning from France? ... What were those ingredients? And could they be absorbed through the skin?"

 _SNAPE! He was the key! What was it he'd said? 'I don't expect you dunderheads will really understand the beauty of the softly shimmering fumes and the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...'_

Carefully wrapping the pestle in one of Ron's underpants, she tucked it away inside her beaded bag. Harry stared at her in disbelief. Hermione reassured him, "Don't worry about it. Let's get on with our Charms homework."

.

The Mysterious Gates

Just as the thickening maze of thorns was at its darkest, a hazy blue illumination directly ahead revealed the way through for Ron and Olive. The pair were enlivened by their exploration, almost skipping along as the light grew brighter nearer its source. The experiences in the Forest had driven away the lack of purpose and interaction that was their lot in the castle.

"It's getting warmer too!" cried Ron, holding up his hands before him as they proceeded. "The light looks cool but you can feel it like sunshine on your skin."

They wound their way more comfortably now they could see the gaps between the thorny growths, and, in a short time, they emerged into a spiky glade blocked at its far end by a wall of thorns with, at its centre, tall, majestic gates of wrought bronze which gleamed in the rich indigo luminescence pouring out through them.

"No lock or latch that I can see..." Ron's eyes lifted upwards, trying to see the top of the gates, but it arched away from them. "It's a gigantic dome of thorns – look. This wall is the front of the dome and the gate leads into it. I don't see how we can get in."

She nodded. "But someone built this – I mean, obviously they grew these thorns and made these gates. Surely they'll open them now and again?"

"It's really ancient," said Ron. "And look at those gates. Must be a hundred foot high. Nobody's made anything like that in thousands of years, not even Hogwarts."

"Perhaps there's a..." She did not finish; they both knew they would be unable to turn a handle or ring a bell even if one had been evident. Shouting for attention would be pointless too.

Ron had walked forward and was pressing against the gates. The metal wasn't cold at all, though, as expected, the barrier held firm. He could push his arms through the metalwork, yet so deep was the bronze lattice that only his wrists and hands poked out the other side. His fingers tingled warmly in the blue glow. "Feels funny, but kind of nice," he said, pulling away.

"There's something... runic lettering I think." She pointed higher up the gates to where the metal had been worked into strange shapes that might be words. Olive shook her head. "No idea what it says though; it's no runes I've ever seen."

But Ron was still staring through one of the gate. "Can't see any thorns – no trees really, just lumpy dark blue wet clay stuff. I think that's where the glow comes from."

"The ground is glowing? How can it be dark blue?"

"No, it's not glowing. It's more like dark blue inky erm... something. But the light come up from it – well, I can't see where else the light comes from but the ground. I wonder what there is further inside? It's just a murky glow, funny really."

Olive joined Ron in looking through the elaborate struts of the gate. "Bit spooky, don't you think?"

Ron grinned. "I think we're the ones who are bit spooky, don't you? Come on, it's just an old ruin. Let's walk back to the castle a different route. Maybe we'll find something more interesting on the way."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _I mentioned somewhere (probably in Chapter 1) that my purpose in lumping all the books in one fic was to gain length and thereby more readers. On fanfiction dot net, there are over 18,000 pages (don't know if page size varies) of Harry Potter fics filtered in English language and 'Followers', and many in the first few pages are epics. I kind of had an initial main target of getting in the first 100 off those 18,000. I was pleased to find last week when I looked, that my story was at page 79 with 758 followers. Actual number of readers (who have read most of the way so far) is nearer 900 to 1000. So, thank each and every one of you who are following this story! Can we make the top 50? Top 10? Those are pages, of course, not stories and I think there's about 20 or 25 fics on a page._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	55. 2:Dark And Slender Clues

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school – but Ron has become totally unnoticeable except to one girl, Olive Hornby, who is similarly affected due to a potion. Together they trek through the Forest and discover a mysterious gate into a dome of thorns. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 55**

 **Dark And Slender Clues**

* * *

.

Forgotten Crimes

Severus Snape had suffered another long day. He sighed with resignation as he leaned back from angrily scratching a 'P' on the final homework before him, then reached for the half-emptied Draught of Peace goblet that stood tempting him on the desk.

"You'll need more than–"

Snape lurched sideways from his chair, wand out and pointing at the intruder whose voice had startled him. "Granger! How dare you enter my office without knocking!" Snape was on his feet, and clearly irritated, embarrassed at his brief show of fear.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here to help you Mr Snape, to help you undo the dreadful mistake you've made."

"You insufferable know-it-all! I do not need your assistance."

"Your career and your freedom are at risk. You'd better listen."

Snape hesitated for a moment, then sneered. "And you are here to save the day as usual? Get out of my sight!"

Hermione consulted her organiser then uttered one word, "Stultitia."

Snape's face turned a pastier shade than usual. "You have one minute to explain yourself, then you will answer to the Headmaster."

"A boy has been gravely affected, possibly killed, by your meddling. You–"

"Wrong!" A snort of relief escaped Snape's lips. "Leave now and perhaps–"

"–You fool! You won't recall your blunder because you yourself are affected!"

Now Snape's expression darkened. "Explain."

During the lesson, you compelled a student to–"

"–Who?"

"Don't you understand? Even if I say his name, you..." She frowned and re-read the open page of the planner in her hand. "You will be unable to remember – as am I, myself, without a regular written reminder." She stared hard into his eyes, unafraid of his powers of Legilimency. "You compelled him to clean up certain ingredients. I believe they were later absorbed through his skin. Their combined effect is unknown to me but it would certainly be mind-altering." She walked forward. "Here's a list of them."

The parchment he snatched from her grasp and scowled at her before glancing over it. "So, the mighty Miss Granger, majestic potions professor, now acknowledges her superior."

"I'm a fully qualified and efficient potions teacher for my year whereas you are a potions master with no teaching skills whatsoever and the ugly manner of a bottled cockroach. Read the list!"

Glowering with annoyance at her tone, his eyes swept over the notes, then again, more carefully. "This is nothing. Mere harmless discards."

"But calibrated and adjusted by Stultitia – bearing in mind that traces of it remain in the system for many weeks?"

His jawline stiffened. "Do you claim that during one of my lessons both accidentally–"

"–Or was it deliberate?"

"How dare you!"

"Some of these ingredients were not even needed in the Stultitia brew; I wondered about that at the time. Enough time-wasting; I want the antidote."

"It can't be–" He stopped himself and glared silently at her.

"–Can't be what? Reversed? You KNEW didn't you!"

"Get out! And don't come back!"

"A student is in serious trouble – and so are you, Mr Snape. You will help me find a way to–"

"–Out!"

Hermione shook her head. "Snivellus, you foul, loathsome lump of maggot filth! No wonder Lily grew to despise you – and you take out your hatred on her child!"

Snape literally staggered but recovered, one hand pressed against the edge of his desk to steady himself. His eyes yearned towards the goblet but he thought better of it. "How could you...? His brow darkened. You've spoken to Professor Dumbledore, haven't you!"

"You're incapable of love," goaded Hermione. "Your pathetic infatuation with Harry's mother was never–"

"Stop this! What of YOUR secrets! I've always suspected you to be more than you appear – now I'm certain!"

Hermione decided to push him further, push him over the edge if possible. "Harry told me about you but It was not Dumbledore that revealed your past desires to him – it was you, yourself, as you lay dying at the hands of Vold–"

Snape's eyes bulged in even greater astonishment. "By Slytherin! You're the mave–!"

"The what?"

He shook his head. "You fool! You're meddling in things that–"

"–What were you going to say?"

She saw the intention in his eyes almost before he knew it himself. As his hand plunged into his robes for his wand, she disarmed him, snatching it out of the air and stuffing it swiftly into her bag.

"You attack a teacher! You'll pay dearly for–"

–Thin, snakelike cords burst from the Hermione's wandless fingers and twisted themselves around Snape limbs, binding him helplessly. Unable to balance, he crashed down clumsily beside his desk.

"I must learn what you meant to say, Snape, and you WILL tell me! Where do you keep your Veritaserum?"

Scorn and fury mixed in his expression. "You'll never find it, girl – if indeed, you are a girl."

A thin smile creased Hermione's lips, and she drew a vial out of her bag. "No matter. I have my own supply but it's tiresome and time-consuming to prepare."

No time was wasted asking Snape to open his mouth. The bones of his jaw, compelled by Hermione's bewitchment, forced his lips apart and she was quick to place several drops of the truth serum onto his tongue while he gurgled and spluttered in fury. Then she waited for a while, glancing around the room to prepare for what she had to do. The door she had already sealed. For a while she pondered how she had come to bring herself here, but a quick read of her planner soon reminded her.

"Let us begin, Snape. What did you mean when you said I was the mave–something? What were you about to say?"

The potions master could not resist the powerful concoction and he replied in a dull monotone, " _The maven. I believe you are the maven."_

"What is that? An adept? At what?"

" _The one of special knowledge. The twice-born."_

Fearing betrayal, yet unable to believe it, Hermione drew in breath and stared at Snape. "Who told you about me?"

" _Draco informed me of a prophecy that Trelawney recited to him."_

Hermione's heart relaxed. "Repeat it."

Snape remained silent, and Hermione knew why. The Veritaserum would not compel him to obey orders but only to answer questions truthfully.

"What was the prophecy that Draco told you?"

 _Darkness comes. The beast shall be its only sign. On a high place, the cursed shall be set against–_

Hermione gasped. Back in Devil's Deep and overwhelmed by terror, she'd forgotten the fragment she'd extracted from Steff Daggard's mind as the hag had died; the experience had been too awful.

But there was more, and Snape continued, "– _On a high place, the cursed shall be set against a maven. Equal yet greater, neither can survive the other's defeat. Darkness comes."_

"Are you and Draco members of the Black Arc?"

" _I do not know."_

"What do you mean, you don't...? Are _you_ a member of the Black Arc?"

" _Yes."_

"Is Draco?"

" _I don't know."_

"Speculate."

There was silence.

"If you were speculating about Draco's allegiance to the Black Arc, what would you be thinking?"

" _That he might be. That it is likely. But I must never ask."_

"Why?"

" _It is forbidden."_

"By who?"

" _I don't know."_

Hermione sighed. "Who do you know is a member of the Black Arc?"

" _Myself."_

"Who else?"

" _I do not know."_

"What? You don't know anyone else in the Black Arc. How did you join?"

" _I was recruited by an anonymous message."_

"How do you contact them?"

" _I do not know."_

"Impossible! You must surely have... if you had something important to tell the Black Arc, what would you do?"

" _I do not know."_

Hermione sighed and glanced at her watch. She had more questions and the Veritaserum wouldn't last indefinitely. "If you were speculating about what you would do if you desperately needed to contact the Black Arc, what would you be thinking?"

" _I believe I would remember the method temporarily. I believe I would send a message somewhere then forget how I did it."_

"My God! No doubt one of your own potions?"

" _I do not know."_

"How can they operate like that?"

" _I do not know."_

"If you were speculating about how the Black Arc sensibly functions, what would you be thinking?"

" _Colony intelligence. Individual ants have no idea how to build a well-structured nest but together they can achieve it. No single ant can conceive how to build a bridge over a gap, or even what it is, yet as a large group they produce a practical, intelligent construction. Alternatively, there may be just one or a few leaders managing the Black Arc. Or a combination of leader management and colony intelligence. Or there could be some other control structure I have not thought of. Or a hybrid of all three. Or there–"_

"Yes, yes. I get the picture – you're just a bug and you don't have a clue. Any idea what the beast might be?"

" _I heard someone jest they were paid off by the beast."_

"Who?"

"Rita Skeeter."

Hermione rubbed her eyes in surprise. "If you could elaborate, what would you say?"

" _In a careless moment, Skeeter implied she'd received an expensive gift in payment for services rendered."_

"The crocodile handbag!" cried Hermione, remembering her own reaction to seeing it. "Why did she tell you that? Why were you with her? What was the situation? If you were to speculate, what would you say?"

On and on, Snape droned in the same flat voice, " _There are only fragments of memories and I do not know why or how I was there. I recognised Skeeter's voice in the next room. I assume I'd had to provide a potion and that she'd been paid off to publish some misinformation or else refrain from publishing unwanted material. I was, as usual, Obliviated, but afterwards in the few brief moments before I departed, I heard her laugh as she asked if the gift was still living as well."_

"As well as what!" It was Hermione's turn to stagger. She paced up and down to think it through. _Had the crocodile itself still been alive when the handbag was made?_ She shuddered. _Or, no, was it crocodile at all? What had Luna said the day that Skeeter had fallen into the watering can?_ Hermione tried to remember but resigned herself to adding another note in her organiser; she needed to stay on track.

"What is the effect of Stultitia in combination with the ingredients on that list?"

" _Extreme body rhythm contraction reducing interaction and making one permanently unnoticeable."_

"Why give it Ron Weasley?"

Snape frowned in puzzlement, struggling to answer. Hermione jolted his memory. "You forced a student to scrape up discards and drink an entire beaker of Stultitia. Why? What would be the point of making him unnoticeable in class?"

Again, Snape had to fight hard to answer under the compulsion of the Veritaserum and the conflict with the other potion. " _I was to provide the student without anyone knowing. The plan went badly wrong due to the poorly-worded order. The intention had been to supply the child and the discarded material to the Black Arc."_

"The Black Arc? What did they want with him?"

" _I do not know."_

"Have they got him now?"

" _No. The plan failed. I tried to complete it again during the summer but..."_ Snape squirmed while striving to recall the attempt.

"...but the Weasleys were away on holiday in France! So it was you who broke into their house?"

" _Yes."_

Hermione sighed. "So now even the Black Arc have forgotten all about him! How do I make the antidote?"

Snape recited the ingredients and preparation while Hermione jotted them down in her planner. Most of them were for producing Stultitia itself with the same additives that she had discovered on Ron's pestle. Only carefully processed mistletoe berries needed to be added to provide the counter-potion.

"How was this to be administered?"

" _It wasn't."_

"What! They intended him to remain unnoticeable? Why? ... What do you think?" she quickly added, realising the Veritaserum was beginning to wear off.

" _So he would never be missed until he died much later when it didn't matter."_

"My God! You people disgust me!" Hermione almost threw her planner at Snape. "Then what use is the antidote? How can it be administered? How can it even be drunk?"

"Very, very slowly..." sneered Snape, and, now able to fight the fading effects of the truth potion, he began wandlessly working against his bonds; Hermione could see them visibly loosening.

"Stupefy!" cried Hermione.

Having finished her interrogation, she hovered him back into his chair, replaced his wand, then poured the remains of the goblet of peace down his throat so he'd be too relaxed to notice the passing of time or anything else out of place. A failed kidnapping would not get Snape a life sentence in Devil's Deep but she could be patient and deal with him later when more concrete evidence of crimes became available. There was even the possibility he was working as a double agent for Dumbledore again. Then finally...

"Obliviate!" It was a detailed and carefully-crafted enchantment she weaved to wipe out all memory of her visit and any suspicions he might have had. If the Black Arc could keep him in the dark, then so could Hermione Granger.

.

A Message of Hope

When Ron and Olive finally returned to Hogwarts Castle, a surprise awaited them. They stared in astonishment at the walls of the Great Hall. Centred on each one of them, in very large bold letters, was written the same, simple message:

 _RON! GO TO 4J_

They looked around at the students and staff who were eating dinner; none of them appeared to have noticed the huge words.

"I think it's Hermione's handwriting!" Ron cried excitedly, but when he looked towards the Gryffindor table, her usual place beside Harry was empty. "If anyone can sort out the mess we're in, it'll be her!"

He looked back towards the open doorway that lead to the Entrance Hall. "No use going up there yet until the Crest meeting begins, then we can slip in with the others. Still, we can wait."

He grinned as he considered the likely outcome of Hermione's involvement. "She's smart. You realise what this means, eh?" He looked towards Olive as he became aware of her silence. "Olive?"

"Is she your uuh...?" Olive said softly, and he felt her grip on his sleeve loosen for the first time.

"My what?"

"Girlfriend?"

Ron laughed. "Hermione? Seriously? Not my type. Anyway, she's well in with Harry. In fact, he's probably covering for her right now. He'll have some excuse ready if anyone asks. She might be already up in Room 4J but she's often busy doing all kinds of other stuff. Wonder how long she'll be and where she's gone?"

.

Satan's Spawn

While Ron was in the Great Hall wondering about Hermione, she herself had just arrived at Devil's Deep's receiving cell and bracing herself to enter the cavern of Rita Skeeter. The bile-mouthed ex-reporter's body had been hideously distorted while attempting to transform from her beetle form inside the Lovegood's watering can, and though Hermione had witnessed more disturbing injuries, she was not looking forward to interviewing the corruption face to face again. After taking a minute to recover after the long Apparition from the bell tower in Germany, Hermione dissolved into immateriality and entered the granite.

Emerging silent and invisible, Hermione paused, wary of any trap the scheming woman-thing might have prepared. True, Skeeter no longer had any magic, but neither had Barty Crouch Junior, and he'd simply pulled Hermione's legs from under her when she'd wrongly assumed he was incapacitated by the captive Dementor.

Warily the young witch crept forward, and only relaxed when she finally observed Skeeter across the cavern just outside her darkened sleeping grotto, feeding from the trough that Hermione had arranged to magically supply the can-sized creature with provisions she could consume using only malformed limbs and claws. Hermione grimaced; her own enchantments had summoned whatever food was needed from a large supply she kept stocked for all the inmates. It was exceedingly unpleasant to observe the slavering mandibles ripping and drooling raw and bloody flesh.

The moment Hermione became visible, Rita caught sight of her and spat out a chunk of gore with a hoarse cry. "GRANGER! YOU'RE EARLY! COME TO GLOAT ON MY MISFOR–"

Both the disgusting sight and the harsh, rasping shriek obscured murmurs from the shadows on Hermione's left: " _Confundus. Petrificus Totalus,"_ and the girl fell, semi-paralysed and half-dazed by the bewitchments. She struck her head on the rocky floor of the cavern which did not help her jumbled perceptions one bit.

Skeeter's cry was gleeful now and the satanic nightmare crabbed over like a warped spider to a feast, jaws side-clicking audibly.

"Silly girl," snorted Rita, "did you suppose I couldn't outfox you?"

Hermione tried to voice the question ' _How?'_ and perhaps it showed as a twitch on her near-rigid lips, for the misshapen thing replied, "Tricked you rather nicely, Granger, didn't I? It's not difficult to play with people's feeble sympathies – I used to do it all the time."

Twisted eyes gleamed at the tiny furrow of Hermione's puzzlement showing on her brow, and it wasn't all due to the Confundus charm. "I enticed you to leave me my Quick-Quotes Quill, remember?" She paused for effect, enjoying Hermione's distress. "It's a wand as well as a magical quill, you foolish child!"

The corrupted ex-reporter strutted back and forth on unrecognisable limbs – clack – clack – clack on the granite floor – knowing exactly what Hermione was thinking. "No magic? You suppose you stole all the magic within me? Not quite all..." Drool slathered down from the fangs, and the deformed head turned slightly. "You can come out now... Imogene."

From the darkness of the sleeping area echoed the faintest of sounds – the soft, catlike padding of an unknown creature. Hermione stared in astonishment as a tall, pallid shape ghosted through the shadows before finally emerging. No fantasising could have prepared the young girl for what she now observed in reality. In these few seconds she'd braced herself for a horror more extreme than Skeeter, but the reality shocked Hermione to the core. For the creature that stepped out into the light was a young woman whose beauty and posture might be compared to Aphrodite coming forth from the sea. And, just like that goddess, this woman was voluptuous, nubile, and completely naked. As she strode forward, the heavy fullness of her breasts caused them to gently sway counter-wise to the balancing swing of her broad hips, and the child Hermione became mesmerised into inadequacy by the womanly perfection of the newcomer.

How could such a person have entered Devil's Deep? Her complexion was a very delicate, light golden coffee, suggestive of an origin in northern India; her long, silky black hair supported that belief, as did her dark brown eyes. In her right hand she held Skeeter's quill, and it was pointed directly at Hermione.

"HURT HER, Imogene!" cried Skeeter. "Make her crawl and beg to help us out of this place!"

But though she instantly reacted to Skeeter's command, the unclothed woman's voice and manner was far too gentle to convey the Cruciatus curse with any conviction, and Hermione felt only the slightest tingle. The maiden wavered as if she only now had truly observed Hermione. "Why, it's a little girl! You are a girl, aren't you?"

Approaching closely, the statuesque beauty towered over Hermione's prone body then crouched down for a closer inspection. Delicate fingers stroked Hermione's cheeks. "You're a real person... a lovely, lovely child." The hands moved with curiosity over Hermione's school robes then withdrew sharply. "Clothes!"

"You witless idiot!" cried Skeeter. "Use the curse like I've taught you!"

"But, Mama...!"

In that one word, Hermione's puzzlement was answered. _Skeeter ... must have ... pregnant when ..._ The young girl struggled now to throw off the effects of the Confundus charm. It had been weak; if she made a huge effort then perhaps...

"You have to really WANT her to suffer!" cried the Skeeter-bug. "Think, think, Imogene! She's the one who locked us in here! Granger is the cause of your incarceration and frustration!"

Hermione tried to protest, but it was the fear in her eyes that triggered a response from Imogene:

"No, Mama, I can't hurt a little girl."

Beetle eyes glittered with malice. "Then _I,_ will!" Rita scurried towards the helpless schoolgirl – but Imogene was nearer. She swept Hermione into her arms and pulled her away. "Mama! Please don't!"

Skeeter paused. No bigger than the size of the watering can that had distorted her, and with malformed, inefficient limbs, she knew she wouldn't be able to outrun her daughter, even dragging Hermione. Wit was her greatest asset. "Then let's discuss this reasonably, shall we? Do you want to see all the wonders of the world that I've shown you in my magic book? Or would you rather remain trapped in this dark dungeon forever?"

Hermione's face was squashed into the generous bosom of the young lady and could barely see anything but flesh. She sensed Imogene wincing as if in pain, but the woman did not relinquish her hold, and clutched the girl within her embrace even more protectively. "You know I can't wear outsiders' clothing, Mama. My skin is too soft."

"Yet you're pressed against her robes now!"

"Because I must!"

Whenever Skeeter tried to approach, Imogene drew Hermione further into the centre of the cavern where the magical faux-daylight from above was brightest. Only when Rita gave up, did the young woman lay Hermione carefully down, keeping her gaze firmly in the direction of her mother who remained watching from the side. As Imogene stood erect, Hermione noticed sores reddening in patches over the flesh that had been in contact with her school robes. The discomfort showed in the woman's expression too.

"I don't have long, Imogene," called Skeeter, "you know that. Do you really wish to remain here with my corpse for all time? Strike now while you can!"

Biting her lower lip against the gathering pain, Imogene raised the quill, studied the terrified face of the helpless schoolgirl at her feet, then... she lowered the feather wand. "I just can't, Mama."

Hermione's fear began to ease, and as it did, the compassion shown by the woman standing over her began to clear the girl's mind; Hermione sensed she might, in some degree, use her silent, wandless magic again. Keeping her renewed power to herself until a needful moment, Hermione managed to murmur, " _can ... heal..."_

"WHATEVER SHE SAYS, IGNORE HER!" screamed Rita, edging nearer – but Imogene merely pulled Hermione away, so Rita desisted again with a rapid tattoo of frustrated mandible clicking.

" _bag ... dittany,"_ whispered Hermione.

Imogene's eyes widened and she sat down to examine the beaded bag peeping out of one of Hermione's copious robe pockets. She hesitated, but a tiny nod from the young girl encouraged her to take the bag and open it.

" _Accio?"_ prompted Hermione very softly.

"Oh, I know that one!" Imogene pointed the quill into the mouth of the bag and said very firmly, "Accio dittany."

Up popped a vial and the woman wasted no time in rubbing the oily liquid into her stomach and thighs which were the worst affected by sores. Clearly she had learned much from the book that Hermione had left with Rita Skeeter.

After watching the tincture rapidly soothe away the stinging inflammation, Imogene said, "Thank you," quite shyly, then returned the bottle to the bag. Perhaps she was now uncomfortable – even ashamed – that she'd attacked Hermione.

Such was Hermione's hope anyway as she tried to assess the woman. There were indications that Skeeter's influence had actually brain-washed her own child, trained the girl over and over to perform an orchestrated strike instinctively on hearing a command word – probably simply the shout of GRANGER! Now that phase had passed, Imogene's naivety was very evident. She was vulnerable and innocent – certainly she did not deserve to remain in prison.

Finding her voice returning, Hermione whispered, "Do you really want to leave here? You'd have to leave your mother behind."

The woman's eyes shone suddenly. "Mama is unkind to me, but I'm not able to leave. It's not what you think. Everyone outside would expect me to wear clothes and I can't, I just can't. She shuddered at the thought and a tear was shaken loose to fall upon Hermione's cheek.

"I'll try to help you," said Hermione. "I'll find enchanted fabrics that won't rasp your delicate skin."

Imogene looked doubtful. "I've seen those stifling pictures. I dislike the thought of clothes. Mama says it's in my nature."

"Then perhaps I might discover somewhere you don't need them, except occasionally for visitors and so on?"

Wiping her eyes, Imogene's face brightened a little. "You're very nice. But I've seen houses and little rooms in Mama's book – there'd be no space for me to–" She broke off, abruptly self-conscious. Hermione did not press her for an explanation.

"A large garden perhaps? Plenty of room to move about. A real sky above?"

The pretty young woman's eyes widened. "Like in the picture book?" With childlike interest, she sat up straight and crossed her legs.

"Better than the picture book," smiled Hermione.

Imogene gazed at Hermione's face for a long time in silence. "Are you my...?"

"Your what?" said Hermione, smiling again at Imogene's innocence.

"People in my favourite stories... they have friends. ... How do people become friends?"

Hermione's heart was touched. This young woman had never met another living person other than the distorted Skeeter-creature. "Imogene... how were you born?"

"Mama said that when I hatched from my egg I was like a merbaby with a human body, arms, and hands, but a tail instead of legs. I crawled immediately – but insects develop really fast and in only a few months I pupated. I was practically mature when I emerged from my chrysalis, and only needed to widen out – you know, bulge more? She stood up to pat her generous hips, turning about to make sure Hermione understood. She took Hermione's astonished blinking as an indication that she did.

Feeling even more deficient and immature, Hermione said, "So you're... how old?"

Imogene smiled as she sat down again, and a curiously sweet sound arose in her throat, as though she'd not yet learned to laugh. The young adult shook her head. "Insects mature faster than humans! I'm a truly grownup woman! Look!" Proudly she squeezed her breasts together, lifting them quite innocently for Hermione to inspect. "How old would you say?"

Mesmerised, Hermione tore her gaze away and tried to focus on Imogene's face. "Physically I'd take you for a perfect eighteen or nineteen."

Imogene beamed with pleasure for a few moments, then her face saddened as she leaned forward to feel Hermione's chest. "But yours are very small... How old are _you?_ How do human girls get–?" She pulled away abruptly to examine her tingling palms. "My hands and feet don't hurt so much because they're hardened by – what's wrong?"

"I'm thirteen going on fourteen. ... Imogene, uuh... certain actions are not... erm... will not be appropriate when you leave here. People do not touch each other on the uuh... chest and uumm... tummy... legs ... between the legs especially – pretty well everywhere actually so–"

"–What! How on Earth do you mate!"

"Aah... that's by... when you have a special relationship with–"

"–Like a boyfriend! That's what you're talking about isn't it! Then you can touch! Oh, how I wish–!"

"–Well, not quite. Even a boyfriend might only hold your hand to begin with. Then later you could begin to kiss a little and uuh... so on."

" _Firstplay!_ That's what I read too! It can take several minutes before mating! One has to be patient and discreet."

Hermione sighed. "That's foreplay, Imogene. It can take months or years before–"

"–NO! NO! You can't mean that! I could never perform _firstplay_ for years; I'd burst with longing! You're still young. You can't possibly imagine the passion that will seize you when you grow up."

It was Hermione's turn to chuckle. "I was speaking of forming the special relationship. Listen, Imogene, you are mature and intelligent but lacking in knowledge of our ways. You'll need someone to teach you. Your mother will have to take more time to–"

"–But she won't be here! Mama is mostly insect..."

Hermione gasped in realisation. "Is that what she meant when she said she didn't have long? That the lifespan of insects is much shorter? And she's half and half..."

A nod confirmed Hermione's guess. "Mama says she's in her last year. I'll be all on my own."

Hermione took a few moments to absorb that, then said, "Imogene, who is your father?"

"I don't know. Mama only ever called him a dick but never explained what that was. She told me she only used him to find out things for her. I think he might have been a Muggle policeman who worked for her."

Releasing a long sigh, Hermione said, "A private dick is a hired detective, Imogene. I'll need to speak to your mother. Can you help me sit up, please?"

"Oh, yes! I'm so sorry I petrified you, uuh... Miss Granger." Imogene scooped one hand under Hermione's back to lift her gently upright into a sitting position, and there she held her steady with her other hand on Hermione's arm.

"Call me Hermione. I think I can brace myself now – you don't need to hold me up if it hurts you."

Imogene slowly moved away her support, checking carefully that Hermione looked secure before backing off and waving her hands limp-wristedly to cool the stinging sensation.

The wand that Hermione pulled out and held up was not needed but she wished to display her returned authority. "Rita! Get over here! We have to talk."

Skeeter took her time, sulkily clattering left and right before approaching the young girl and snarling at her, "You've destroyed me. You know that?"

"You defiled yourself, Rita. Now listen, we have to consider your daughter's welfare and who'll look after her. Tell us about her father."

Rita snorted. "A Muggle low-life. A pervy womaniser called Rodney Dunn. He's a private investigator that I employed to research news stories. I let him shaft me once when I'd nothing else with me to offer for his services."

Imogene said, "Is that the same as mating? That's a poor way to select a male."

A rasping sound emitted from within Skeeter. "And you're the expert now, are you?" Rita turned to Hermione. "Take her. Get her out of my sight."

As the twisted monstrosity tip-tapped away, compassion arose within Hermione, but there was nothing she could do for the creature. "Your handbag. I need to see your handbag, Rita."

The warped beast froze for several moments, then appeared even more crushed as she continued limping away. "Why not? You've stolen everything else from me: my freedom, my career, my dignity..."

"You never had–" Hermione stopped herself; it had become clear that Skeeter had not long to live, so why insult her further?

"What lies did you spread for the Black Arc after they gave you that handbag?"

There was no way to guess the expression on the faceless misshape but Hermione sensed the astonishment.

"How could you possibly...?" Again Rita drooped in resignation; the certainty of death had changed her outlook forever. "I had to drastically play down my report of their involvement in the Hyde Park massacre."

Hermione's eyes flickered at the memory of that event. "Why?"

"I suspect that Rowle and the Carrows acted without authorisation. The Black Arc were beginning to dig in, go underground even then – that much is obvious. I assume they are secretly planning, recruiting, growing in strength for the future. They're much smarter than You-know-who ever was."

"Which of them gave you the bag?"

"No idea. They Obliviated the meeting out of me – but they couldn't take away the memory of their instruction of course, what they'd asked me to do."

Hermione nodded. With an effort, she stood up and headed for the darkened sleep alcove. There she found Rita's pitifully few personal effects. Hermione was only interested in one of them. She hovered up the crocodile handbag, though it was soon obvious it had no traps – magical or otherwise. Beautifully crafted, the slender, stylish handbag sported a silky black skin with a scale pattern that indicated a reptilian, serpentine, or dragon origin. Hermione emptied out the contents and put the handbag inside her own beaded bag as she became aware that Imogene had followed her and was watching closely.

"I'm sorry, Imogene. I can't take you right now. I have to find somewhere safe for you first and I also need to get back to school quickly." She looked anxiously at her watch.

"You'll come back?" whimpered Imogene. "You won't leave me here alone forever?"

"You have my word..." smiled Hermione, "the word of a friend."

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Still quite a way to go, but this Book 2 is likely to be shorter than the first two. Book 0 was about 175,000 words because it covered Hermione's age 0 to 11, and Book 1 was about 110,000 - so epic length. This Book 2 might be a normal novel length, about 50,000 to 70,000 is my guess so we're about half way. I don't write to fit a certain book length; I don't even write chapters. I paint scenes and compile related scenes into a chapter. I have all the scenes in my head where they talk to me. Usually they say, "hurry up and write this down!"_

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	56. 2:The Proximal Son's Return

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school – but Snape has made Ron totally unnoticeable except to Olive Hornby, who is also affected. They discover a mysterious gate into a dome of thorns in the Forest. Meanwhile, in Devil's Deep prison, Rita Skeeter hatched a daughter, Imogene, who Hermione promises to help. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 56**

 **The Proximal Son's Return**

* * *

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Revelations and Recovery

While Hermione was bidding goodbye to Rita Skeeter's daughter, Imogene, at Devil's Deep, Hogwarts students were finishing their dinners and beginning to meander off, either to the library, or to attend to homework, or simply to relax. All were oblivious of Hermione's messages on the walls of the Great Hall, urging Ron to go to Room 4J – all but two: Ron and Olive.

Ron had readied himself to follow the Hufflepuff Crestors upstairs to the meeting but was disappointed to see them heading down to their house's common room. "That's funny," he said to Olive.

But Olive was still staring at the huge messages on the walls of the Great Hall. "How could your friend know about you? How could she even remember long enough to write your name?"

Ron shrugged. "That's Hermione for you! Always figuring things out that nobody else can. Smartest witch in our year anyway."

He'd cheered up considerably more than she'd ever seem him since they'd met. He was certainly very animated when talking about his friend. Olive frowned, almost pouted. "She sounds flawless. I suppose she's also the most popular and prettiest as well."

"Pretty? No, she's got horsey teeth and terrible hair. She's really bossy... oh, and a nervous lisp – though she's about grown out of that now, I think. No, apart from Crest, hardly anyone takes her seriously in Gryffindor. I think she prefers to keep a low profile behind Harry."

"Oh, _her._ No wonder I didn't remember which you meant." Olive brightened up a little. "This Crest meeting, what exactly is it?"

"We're a self-help group. We support each other – homework and that – and also learn to protect ourselves with magic. We usually get together in 4J so I reckon there's going to be a meeting tonight." Ron stared at Harry, willing him to move, but Harry remained at the Gryffindor table checking his watch. Ginny, Neville, and Luna were seated around him, and none of them appeared ready to budge at all. Only when most of the other students and staff had departed did Harry stand up, and the others arose likewise, then followed him out.

"This must be it!" Ron said excitedly, and he and Olive followed the others, as expected, up to Room 4J.

"I think it's to do with us recruiting more," Neville was saying. "Why else would Hermione only invite us four?"

Luna squeezed his arm but said nothing.

"We'll soon know," said Harry, as he opened the door to Room 4J and pushed on in. One glance around and he added in a disappointed tone, "She's not here yet... Wait! Look!" On the blackboard was written:

 _HARRY! LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN!_

Neville, who was still in the doorway after letting the girls in first, took his hand smartly off the door handle and shrugged as he followed the others inside.

"Potions!" cried Ginny, pointing to a desk that had been pushed to the wall. Upon it were several vials, bottles, bowls of ingredients, and labelled packets, with a simmering cauldron of clear liquid off to one side. At the front of the desktop was a very wide measuring beaker, empty except for a single straw.

Ron and Olive stared. On the wall above the desk was a message scrawled in huge letters that nobody else seemed to notice:

 _RON! DRINK THE ANTIDOTE IN  
THE BEAKER WHEN READY!_

Ron pumped a fist in the air and cried out, "YES!"

Neville scratched his head. "I thought you said she'd be here, Harry?"

"Must have been held up."

"I think someone else is coming too," said Luna, gazing at the blackboard. "Perhaps a leprechaun – they have trouble opening doors on a Thursday."

Hermione had no such difficulty. She swept in through the stone walls and materialised before them.

"Hermione! You're hurt!" Harry ran to her, staring at the bruise on the side of her head.

"Uh? Oh, that, it's nothing. I tripped over and banged my head."

Harry frowned. "Hermione, I wish you wouldn't..."

But she'd scurried over to the desk that was set with potions and was examining the liquid in the cauldron very carefully. The brew was Stultitia and perfectly clear.

She looked at the others. "How long have you been here?"

"Only just arrived ourselves," said Harry. "What's up? What's happening?"

"We've a friend I'm hoping can be enticed here. If not today, then over the next week or so."

Taking several of the vials, she added their contents to the Stultitia which cascaded throughout with a smoky milk-like colour.

Luna piped up, "Oh, if it's a Knarl then you're wasting your time, Hermione. They'll know it's a trap."

"Not a Knarl, Luna, it's one of Ginny's brothers."

Ginny squealed. "Bill! You mean Bill's coming here?"

"Not Bill – nor Charlie either."

Ginny's shoulders fell. "But Percy and the twins are always here. I can talk to them anytime."

"Wait and see..."

Hermione ladled half of the mixture into a large pottery jar, sealed and labelled it 'Dangerous!' then carefully added her prepared mistletoe berries to the cauldron and stirred them around. Surprisingly, the liquid became more like thin jam stewing and bubbling in a pot. "Should be sweet according to the instructions," she mused.

After spooning out copious amounts of the fruity potion into a cooling trough beside the beaker, she raised her voice to say, "If you're here, Ron, it's scalding hot so leave it at least half an hour, then I'll transfer it to the beaker."

"Who?" said Neville.

"Hopefully, you'll see him in a while," said Hermione, "but if not, the potion will still be effective for months."

For ten or twenty minutes she busied herself, consulting the organiser she inevitably kept in her hand, examining the room to consider anything that might be a problem for Ron, double-checking the door was open, then studying her potion preparation one more time. Only when she was satisfied did she finally give her full attention to her companions who were staring at her curiously.

"Now, I have something to announce." She summoned six chairs and they jostled each other into a rough circle. Hermione sat down, and her friends, after a glance at each other, joined her, staring curiously at the remaining empty seat.

"As you know," began Hermione, "only you five are privy to my closest secrets."

"Four," corrected Ginny, but Hermione was looking closely at the empty chair, perhaps hoping to discern the form of Ron sitting there. But while Ron was indeed listening to the discussion, he and Olive were over at the Potions desk, hungrily eyeing the steaming-hot antidote. In the background, he could hear Hermione continuing:

"As well as Crest, I've set up another group outside of Hogwarts called The Cathesis League to combat corruption at the Ministry and to begin the integration of Magicals and Muggles."

"What!" exploded Neville.

Harry said, "I knew you were up to something but..."

"Muggles won't get along with us," said Ginny. "Dad says most of them are fine but many will be scared of magic and hate us for it."

"That's what we have to rectify."

"But why, Hermione?" said Harry.

"The future is very bleak if we don't. I've told you before, that in my former life the world practically came to an end and the few Muggles remaining were dying off. Magicals were virtually all dead as far as one could tell. I was the only one I knew and I'd given up magic in despair."

There was an astonished silence while Hermione continued to describe the original future in more terrible detail. It was a long while before she considered they really understood what might lie ahead.

"Yes, we are superior insofar as we have magic, but Muggles are far ahead of us in science, technology, and most social structures such as schooling, justice, and open, accountable politics. True, they are far from perfect, but they are evolving inevitably in the right direction. Evolution – including social evolution – always leads to the survival of what works best, given sufficient time. Unfortunately, that doesn't guarantee survival in the short term. We can help Muggles and they can help us. Unless we all work together, we're done for."

"Is this to do with where you were this evening?" asked Harry.

"One strand of it – the justice element. Azkaban is brutally cruel and insecure because it relies on Dementors, and not only are they despicably evil, they can be lured away. I have set up a provisional, simplified justice system to help eliminate the most vicious dark wizards who are the greatest threat. There is a new, much more secure prison in Europe, and Cathesis have already tried and sentenced several of the worst offenders to remain there. Among them is Umbridge. What she did to you, Neville, was dreadful torture of a child, and she has committed far worse – worse than you can imagine."

Shocked silence during which Hermione pulled out the crocodile handbag. "This was Rita Skeeter's. She confessed to countless activities, many of which she knew would most likely lead to deaths – all for the sake of selling her stories. Luna, what can you tell me about the material of which it's made, please?" While everyone else remained mute, she handed it over to the dreamy girl.

Luna took the bag and examined it on her lap, running her fingers over the polished hide. "This was the one in our garden, wasn't it? When you dived out of the window?"

Hermione nodded.

"So Rita Skeeter had been in our garden?"

"And in your house, spying on us. She was the flying beetle you saw."

"She's an animagus? That's how she gets her stories? What happened to her?"

"She fell into your watering can and was... severely impaired while trying to transform back into a human. She's currently in our prison. The handbag you hold was given to her by the Black Arc for services rendered."

"Merlin!" cried Neville. "What are you into, Hermione?"

"Crest is not a game in a painting, Neville – it's for real. All the training we do is for a very serious purpose – to keep us alive into and through adulthood." Hermione turned her attention back to the girl at his side. "Luna?"

"It's sea dragon – the skin from the tummy of a quite young sea dragon I think, because it's so gloriously fine. Sea dragons are not really dragons but seem to fly quickly through the water with their gorgeous wide fins and long necks. They can't breathe fire but their jaws are longer, more slender, and with lots more teeth – they're like needles." Luna gnashed her teeth to demonstration her admiration for the creatures. "Their backs are always nearly black but they're not quite so dark beneath – like this handbag."

"What do you know about the manufacture? Who makes them?"

"Why, nobody anymore, of course! It's illegal. Sea dragons are very rare. There's one that sometimes visits a Scottish loch in search of a mate but it returns less and less frequently."

"Does the creature have to be... uumm... skinned alive for some reason?"

"NO!" cried Luna, clamping one hand over her mouth in horror. "That would be awful. The last craft works that–"

–But Hermione had leapt to her feet and almost cursed the figure that had appeared across the room: a young girl of about their own age who, for a few seconds, had been talking to herself and suddenly cried out, clutching at the back of her head, rubbing an elbow, and looking very confused.

"Who are you!" demanded Hermione.

The girl turned, wincing as if in pain. "You can see me? You can see me!" She walked over. "You're Hermione aren't you?"

"Yes, but who are _you?_ And where's Ron?"

"Who?" The girl was still tentatively feeling her elbow as though assessing an injury.

Hermione groaned and ran over to where the girl had been standing near the potions desk. The cooling trough was almost empty. Whirling back around she cried, "What have you done?"

The others had their wands out now and all were trained on the newcomer.

"I'm Olive Hornby. I saw your..." Again she looked confused. "I drank the..."

"But it was scalding hot!" shouted Hermione. "I put it there for someone else, not you! Why'd you – what did you say your name was?"

"Olive Hornby. I'm sorry, I've been–"

"You're Olive Hornby? _The_ Olive Hornby? The girl who went missing fifty-odd years ago?"

Olive nodded. "But I've been here all the time – just unnoticed."

It finally dawned on Hermione what had happened to the poor girl. "But what about..." She hesitated, consulting her planner to refresh her memory out of habit, before repeating, "What about Ron?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know who you mean."

Hermione's heart sank. Perhaps she'd miscalculated and Ron was elsewhere – not even in the castle. "But how did you know what this was?"

"Uumm... I don't know. Just guessed I suppose..."

"Just guessed? After fifty years you wander in here and drink an unknown potion? You can't even see my message on the wall, can you?"

Olive turned about, searching all the walls the classroom, shaking her head as she did so, then grimacing as one hand explored the back of her head again. "I think I do recall a message but..."

Hermione realised what this meant. "Then Ron must know. He knows how I think and what I'd do. He must have brought you here! That's the only way you could have been informed!"

Excited now, Hermione whirled around; there was still plenty of potion in the cauldron. "Ron, Ron! I know you're here! I'll pour some more of the antidote directly into the beaker. It's very hot but apparently that doesn't matter."

She did so, taking care not to dislodge the straw, then turned to Olive. "You managed to absorb enough in what... the thirty or forty minutes we've been here? How long did you wait for it to cool?"

"I didn't. My body never reacted very much to hot and cold or any physical forces really. I've not even aged in fifty years."

Hermione gaped at the girl and her old-fashioned school robes as she absorbed the implications of that. She stood to one side of the potions desk to give Ron plenty of room to sit down. "Fifty years – my Goodness! That's why you showed up alone. He must have insisted you drink the potion first."

Scrutinising Olive, she said, "This is awful. I'm sorry. You've been trapped here all these years and no one knew..." Hermione stepped forward and hugged the girl. "And I'm sorry I shouted at you. I didn't know who you were or what you'd been through."

Neville said, "Hermione, can you please explain to the rest of us what you're talking about and who this girl is?"

After a long sigh, Hermione told them what she knew and Olive added to the account, how three friends had been cursed by Tom Riddle: one to an unfulfilled, stretched-out life in the library; one to purgatory as a ghost, and one to remain invisible and non-interactive. "So you see, Olive has been here at Hogwarts for decades, unseen and unknown until now. And there's someone else in the same situation, someone you've been missing, Ginny, without understanding why you feel so... incomplete."

"Incomplete? Me?" huffed Ginny, but her face fell and she lapsed into thinking about what had been said.

Hermione summoned a seventh chair and they all sat down to wait for what Hermione said would be the arrival of one of Ginny's brothers – but not Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, or George.

She grinned at their perplexion, especially that of Olive who was totally confused as to what she'd been doing during the last few weeks and how Hermione had saved her without even knowing about her. "I went for a walk in the Forest! I never go in there! Why would I? I saw centaurs and unicorns and–"

"–Don't take this the wrong way, Olive," cut in Harry, "but how much did you hear when we were talking?"

She shook her head. "You were speaking too quietly for me to hear you on the other side of the classroom and I had my face in the trough, but Ron was..." She clamped a hand over her mouth in astonishment. "...he was sitting right here..." Confusion spread over her face.

"Who?" frowned Harry.

"I'm not sure... wasn't there somebody sitting here?"

Luna said, "Dark wizards treated Olive very badly. I think we can trust her with some of our secrets."

Ginny agreed, and so did Neville. Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

Olive said, "Don't worry, everyone in the school has heard of Crest! I've been here all along, remember?"

"There's a bit more to it than that," said Hermione. She spent the next fifteen minutes informing Olive about their aims but gave away none of the secrets exclusive to the inner six friends. "We believe a dark period lies ahead of us unless we prepare ourselves. I definitely think you should get yourself ready too, so that – what _are_ you going to do anyway? Continue your schooling?"

With a snort and a vigorous scowl, Olive elaborated for some time about how she longed to get away from Hogwarts. "After fifty years I'm sick of this place. One more minute would be one minute too long." On and on she poured out her heartfelt longing to escape the castle that had imprisoned her for years. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing, could compel me to ... to ... _to leave_..." She stared in wonder at the boy who was walking towards her.

"Olive? Are you hurt?"

"RON!" squealed the girl, and ran to him, arms outstretched.

"Merlin! Wh–Where...?" stammered Neville.

Luna nodded to herself as she watched Ron and Olive hugging each other. "I knew someone would turn up, but two is twice as good as one."

Harry simply stared blankly at the restoration of his red-haired friend, unable to reconcile what he was seeing with the confusing memories of the last few months: his barely noticing Ron so much all that time that he could scarcely remember anything he'd done. Ginny put her hands to her face and began to cry. Only Hermione's face relaxed into a smile; the six were together again.

.

After Effects

Ron's concerns about Olive's physical discomfort were unfounded. The girl was simply suffering from the knocks to the back of her head and elbow when she'd been attacked fifty years before by Avery and Lestrange as they'd forced her down to administer the potion. She'd felt no pain once the potion had taken effect. It had taken all this time for the tissues to bruise, and she'd never noticed until her body rhythms were restored to normal time.

Not so straightforward were the explanations that Hermione had to give Dumbledore. She managed to pass off Ron's absence as a potions accident which, in a way, it partly had been, while hinting she'd had a crush on Ron to explain why she remembered him enough to work out a solution.

But what was to be done with their lost schooling? Ron had attended many classes and absorbed some theory, but now he was being set extra work to catch up. Olive's education had been uneven, however; she was far in advance in many ways yet lacking in others. Still only twelve, and with nowhere else to go, it was agreed she should remain at Hogwarts and work with Ron to get an up-to-date refresher on the second-year course. The arrangement was jointly managed and overseen by their heads of house: Flitwick and McGonagall.

Dumbledore had been fascinated by the account of Miss Hornby's experience, and asked Arthur Weasley if there were any Ministry records that might indicate the whereabouts of her brother's widow. Meanwhile, the Daily Prophet reported the incident in a low-key sort of way, there not being very much material to fill the article other than 'missing girl found after astonishing fifty years', no matter how much they tried.

Perhaps more profound was the effect on Madam Pince when Olive first entered the library with Hermione and Ron to research their homework. She'd heard the news of course, but the matriarch literally began shaking at the sight of her best friend and, showing great agitation, she elbowed a stack of books off the checkout counter onto the floor with a crash.

"Olive...? Olive..." was her first weak utterance, so overcome was she.

"Irma!" smiled Olive. She'd watched her friend grow old, so was well used to the changed appearance and manner, but she could not have prepared herself for what followed. Faced with the vision of the long-lost but still deeply-beloved companion from her happy childhood, the careworn features of the enslaved librarian screwed up tight and she fought hard and helplessly against the sobs that racked her chest and throat. Gripping the counter to hold herself up, she blindly clawed and groped a way around to grasp Olive's hands before steering her towards the privacy of the archive chamber – and leaving Ron and Hermione to gape, along with a great many other students who had been nearby, at the astonishing show of affection by the long-embittered librarian.

Madam Pince was never quite the same after that. In a strange way, the profound reminder of a relationship so sweet had debased the curse that soured her life. She appeared younger, more her age – the middle years for a witch – and definitely more mellow and tolerant. Her interest and profound knowledge of Ministry politics remained no longer a frustrated, unattainable ambition but an active correspondence and interaction, while managing the library was elevated in her thoughts to a joyful occupation and responsibility, and not at all a tedious duty.

.

The Licentious Flatfoot

At the sound of a third knock, Mrs Williams opened the front door and stared in disbelief at the little girl who stood there. "No! Absolutely not! It was bad enough having a painted-up sixteen-year-old tart in my house, but he's old enough to be your–"

"–Who is it, Mrs Williams?" called a man's voice approaching from the shadowy hall.

"Mr Dunn! I will not permit–"

"Who are you?" demanded Rodney Dunn as his eyes alighted on the schoolgirl.

"My name is Rosemary Brown. I'm an acquaintance of Miss Skeeter and I wish to speak to you urgently about a _family_ matter."

Dunn didn't flinch but Hermione could tell he was holding himself still enough to hide a reaction. Only moments were needed for the man to bring himself under control. "It's alright, Mrs Williams, Miss Brown and I are... both related to a client of mine – and a client pays the rent, you understand?"

"Yes, well..." Dunn's landlady waddled off in a huff towards the sound of television coming from her rooms, and the man waited for the door to shut off an announcer's oily promo gabble.

"Well? I tried to contact Skeeter but–"

"–We can't discuss this on the doorstep, Mr Dunn." She studied the man. He was certainly good looking, and had dark hair and brown eyes, but there was barely a trace of the far east in his complexion. He looked more European than Indian but it was not impossible he might be Imogene's father.

Grim-mouthed, he sighed a long breath down his nose then nodded resignedly, gesturing for her to come in. He followed her into his parlour.

"She sent you? What's your involvement in this?"

"I'll get right to the point. Rita is dying, Mr Dunn, and your daughter needs her father."

"Impossible! My accommodation is small and there's no garden for a youngster to play in. I'm a professional – out most days and certainly can't look after a small child."

A glance around the small, untidy living room, caused Hermione to frown; Imogene would feel very constricted in a place like this. "Not so small a child anymore, Mr Dunn. Strange things happen in the magical world."

Dunn gasped, then looked thoughtful. "You know what Skeeter is?"

"A witch, but her daughter is–"

"My God, I did wonder when you turned up – it's YOU, isn't it! She used her magic to make you grow up more quickly?"

Hermione blinked rapidly. "It most certainly is NOT me! Your daughter is... that is, she looks to be in her late teens – though mentally rather naive." She bit her lip, instantly regretting having added that.

Dunn's head tilted thoughtfully. He paced up and down for a few moments then turned to examine Hermione rather closely. "Rita was... shall we say... handsome at best, but my grandmother was a rare beauty. How can I be sure this girl... this _teenager_ is really mine? What does she look like?"

Hermione stared in astonishment as she recalled Skeeter's comments about the man, and the suspicions that Mrs Williams had uttered at the door. "Sadly, she's put on a lot of weight, but she's almost as attractive as her mother, apart from a skin affliction."

Dunn wasn't fooled. He smiled craftily and murmured, "Dusky, is it?" He rubbed his hands together. "I'm trying to imagine her... I mean, how she would cope with life – her having only a few years experience of it? I think, in the circumstances, I must take on my paternal duty and accept the burden of raising the poor innocent. How soon can she be brought here?"

For several seconds, Hermione could not answer. When she finally did, her tone was both bitter and vicious. "Why you foul, lecherous cockroach! I'd rather feed her to dogs than hand her over to you!" She turned and stomped off towards the door.

"You can't stop me!" barked Dunn. "I'm her legal guardian now and it's my right! I know all about the Leaky Cauldron and how to get into that world. I'll find her – that's what I do best. And even if she looks it, nobody cannot present documents to show she's old enough to leave her rightful, loving father, can they?"

Hermione stopped and turned back to face Dunn, shaking with fury. "You're forgetting one thing."

"Oh, and what's that, you pretty little thing?" smirked Dunn, marching up to her, hands outstretched, fingers wiggling. "Are you wired up? Got a recording device in there somewhere have you?"

"No, but I've got this..." She drew ten and three-quarter inches of vine wood out of her pocket, and Rodney Dunn, eyes suddenly wide with fear, took a step back as Hermione continued, "A dragon's heartstring lies within this wand, Mr Dunn, and the heart of the witch before you is filled with righteous anger..."

She left Dunn with a cursed libido and Confunded into the false belief that both Rita and a baby son had died in childbirth.

.

Impossible Solution

The problem remained, who was to care for Imogene? For many days, Hermione gave much thought to the solution. The right family had to be trustworthy, or at least, bound by a code of honour not to ill-use the girl. Their residence ought ideally to be large and open as well as secure. Above all else, they'd have to be tolerant of a beautiful young woman essentially being naked most of the time. _Impossible!_ Hermione fumed to herself. With the best of intentions, what husband could be trusted? What marriage could withstand such constant temptation. And the children! How would they be affected?

The answer, when it came, was blindingly obvious. There was one candidate that Hermione knew who was not only immensely wealthy, but widowed and with a single child away most of the time at Hogwarts. Furthermore, the lady was already indebted to Hermione and could not refuse her. Taking out quill and parchment, the girl began to write...

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Ah, but who is Hermione writing to? Sorry, no house points will be awarded for guessing._

 _Thanks to reviewer, tricorvus, for pointing out my error way back in Chapter 1! I had Headmaster Armando Dippet as 'Tippet' in a couple of places. Now fixed. It's amazing how that could be missed. Not only do I check and polish chapters over and over, I've also re-read that particular chapter a few times since (it's my favourite) and never noticed. Yeah, I do sometimes read parts of my old chapters to refer to something then forget and carry on reading! Well, it's so big now, even I forget stuff. The other day I had to look up the humorous girls' promise (to be good and not stray in effect) to Pandora: "We promise!" in Chapter 27 which then led to the sphinxes - wow! Anyway, more shockers to come in future chapters._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	57. 2:Seraphic Descendant

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school – but Snape made Ron totally unnoticeable except to Olive Hornby, who'd been affected for 50 years. They discovered a mysterious gate into a dome of thorns in the Forest. On their return, Hermione gave them an antidote. Meanwhile, in Devil's Deep prison, Rita Skeeter hatched a daughter, Imogene, who Hermione promises to help. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 57**

 **Seraphic Descendant**

* * *

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Luna's Top Secret Plan

After being unnoticed for so long, Ron was now enjoying a new minor celebrity status, and liked retelling his experiences. Having exhausted the Gryffindors' interest, he'd taken to sitting with Olive at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast, and Hermione watched him waving his forked sausage about as he chatted happily away to all those within earshot.

Harry had observed her keeping one eye on Ron, so he said, "Still can't believe I never noticed him while he was around. I sometimes had an odd sensation in the back of my mind that someone was listening to us talk, but it didn't seem important."

"I feel uncomfortable about it too," said Hermione, "but it can't be helped."

She gazed upwards hopefully as the first wave of the morning's owls began swooping in. One by one, other faces turned to see, some with eager hope, others enviously, while some, like Dean who had a Muggle post arrangement, showed no interest at all. The twins played it cool as usual. Sally-Anne had a regular, alternate day, pen pal exchange with a girl in Europe and rose up when she recognised her friend's owl. Parvati too, stood, but slowly sank back down with a confused expression on her face.

"Expecting a grey as well, Parv?" said Sally-Anne, opening her own letter and not paying much attention to Parvati's reply.

"Uumm... not sure." A frown crossed the girl's face as she kept staring at new birds arriving.

"Looks like another inquisition from Ron's mum," said Neville, pointing at a bird swooping down towards the Ravenclaw table. "She's been fussing him everyday to make up for lost time."

Harry's head lifted up, but a different, larger owl caught his attention as it spiralled down towards the Slytherin table. "I see Draco's got a package from his parents as well."

Hermione glanced across. "They spoil him terribly. It's probably another new robe, going on the shape of the parcel and his stupid grin." Her eyes flickered further along, six or seven seats away from Malfoy, where Blaise Zabini was managing two owls at once, one burdened with the morning's Daily Prophet.

Ginny said, "Hope there's nothing more about Ron in the news – his head's big enough already."

Luna let go her cereal spoon to pat Ginny's hand. "Wish I had a big brother like yours – or an eagle owl would be nice instead." She waved as the great bird departed Malfoy's table.

"Aha!" grinned Harry, "Ron must have heard and wants to swap Ginny for you, Luna."

Sure enough, Ron was walking over, his breakfast forgotten.

"Hooray!" cried Luna, "I always wanted a sibling!"

There was a clatter as Parvati's spoon dropped into her empty dish. She swung her legs over the bench and dashed towards the exit, leaving her bag behind.

"What's up with her?" said Harry.

Sally-Anne said, "She's been out of sorts all year – mood swings and so on. It's a girl-growing-up thing." She picked up Parvati's schoolbag and rose to her feet.

"I think it's a boy," whispered Fay. "Finish your porridge. I'll go after her," and she took the bag from Sally-Anne who nodded thanks to her departing friend.

As Ron arrived at the Gryffindor table, he said, "Hermione, is there any chance that potion might still be affecting Olive a bit?"

"No, Why?" said Hermione, staring forlornly at the departing owls.

"Only she's getting on fine with the other second-years but..."

"But what?"

"Well, sometimes while they're getting ready for bed and chatting about things that happened during the day, Olive feels a bit uuh... out of it, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't. It'll take time for her to be fully accepted, especially since her interests are from a different era. Didn't you say your dad had invited her over to The Burrow for Easter?"

"Er... yeah, not to stay though, just for a day."

"So Mrs Weasley wants to see what your new friend is like as well as fuss over you?"

"Think it's more that Dumbledore spoke to my dad about finding her auntie."

"Goodness! Hope nothing's happened to her, she's – what's Olive doing on the other days then if she's got no home of her own yet? Coming back to Hogwarts? That's a bit odd."

"Dunno."

"Unlikely," smirked Ginny, continuing in a sing-song mimic of Olive, " _One more minute in Hogwarts would be one minute too long. Absolutely nothing, could compel me to stay except bighead over there."_

"Alright, alright," scowled Ron, "so she needs me. I don't mind."

"Don't mind?" sniggered Ginny, "you're lapping it up."

"Have you kissed her yet?" said Luna, shovelling Wheaty Worms into her mouth where the last of them wriggled vainly to escape her milk-drooling lips. She wiped her mouth with the back of one hand. "Me and Neville have. Three times not counting little pecks."

"And Easter's round the corner," smiled Neville, contentedly.

"What's at Easter?" said Harry, then added with a little snigger, "A fourth snog?"

"Well..."

Luna said, "We're staying at Hogwarts again to scavenge the Forest edge."

Neville nodded and reached for the marmalade. "Luna's had one of her brilliant ideas."

"Well, watch out for the blue – oh yeah, I forgot! Me and Olive saw a blue light in the Forest and a big thorny dome thing. Oh, and a huge gate."

"It's the abominables! I knew it! They light up blue lanterns and dance and sing!" Luna's head tilted happily as she began pondering the possibilities.

"Well, if it's a lantern, it's a bloomin' big one!" cried Ron. "More like a giant's wicker lampshade woven with really tall thorn trees."

"There are no tall thorn trees in this part of the world," said Neville sagely. "It's too cold. They only thrive in the tropics."

"Yeah, well, the blue light makes it warmer."

"A microclimate?" said Hermione.

"A what?" said Neville.

"It's a Muggle term. It means a climate that's different to the surrounding area, rather like a natural greenhouse."

"There was nothing natural about that place." Ron shuddered at the memory, though he did not know why. "Someone or... something ... built it."

"Abominables," said Luna quite dreamily, and there was a faraway look in her eyes. She unrolled a sheet of parchment and quickly sketched out a rough outline of the Forest with a square to its west marking the castle as a reference. "Show me where you saw the blue lantern."

Ron pulled a face. "You're joking! You can't just walk to it, that'd take weeks – with danger all the way!"

"But the baby abominable snowmen are worth it! Show me."

"You can't go, Luna!" cried Hermione and Ginny, almost together.

"I have a top secret plan," Luna smiled serenely. "It's quick and it's safe."

"You have?" blinked Neville in surprise.

Ron shook his head and, with a knowing grin, said, "It's a broomstick isn't it? You can't fly quickly or safely through on a broomstick, and anyway, it's a closed dome – a dome of thorns.

Luna's face fell. "Oh, is it? I thought you said it was a lampshade? Won't it be open at the top?"

"No! It's... well... I couldn't actually see the top. But the walls of thorn arched over away from us at the top."

"Like a giant lampshade!" Luna clapped her hands. "I'm sure the big blue light is at the middle and everyone knows a lampshade is open at the top to let out the heat. That settles it. Would you mark it on the map for me?"

"Sounds more like an enormous wicker crab pot to me," said Ginny, "and we know what happens to the crabs."

Ron shook his head. "Luna, there's a gate. Me and Olive couldn't push it open but someone else might be able to."

"And walk right into the arms of the abominable snowmen?" smiled Luna knowingly. "It's safer to observe from above, don't you think? Then we can make friends."

Hermione said, "Luna, you shouldn't do this. It's extremely dangerous and you'll get into all sorts of trouble even if you get back in one piece."

"But I have a top secret plan!" pouted Luna. "Trust me."

Hermione sighed. "Okay, let's hear it."

Luna frowned. "But then it wouldn't be top secret would it? Anyone can see that."

Ron started to open his mouth. Hermione's brow creased. "I know that look, Ron. Keep your mouth totally zipped shut, right?"

Ron scowled. "In case you hadn't noticed, Hermione, I'm a big boy now and I can manage my life quite well, thank you." He turned to Luna, hesitated, then said, "Erm... sorry, but I'm with Hermione on this one, Luna. I won't tell you where it is."

Ginny snickered.

"It doesn't matter." Luna shrugged her shoulders. "You've already said it's a long way so it can't be on this side. That means its on the opposite side to the east. Also, the thorns would prefer south to north because it's warmer. Therefore it must be southeast."

She watched Ron's face closely but he grinned. "I'm not falling for that old trick." He glanced sideways at Hermione. "See?" then continued, "Luna, you'll get nothing out of me."

"But I just did," said Luna with a smile. "If it was really southeast your right eyebrow would have risen slightly higher than your left with surprise. So it must be northeast."

"Damn you, Luna! That's not fair!"

"Ah, so it _is_ northeast then?"

"Aaaaghhhh!" Ron slapped his forehead and trudged back to the Ravenclaws.

"Oh... I thought he'd be pleased to be noticed a bit," said Luna.

But a few of the Ravenclaws had already finished their meal and were beginning to leave – as were other students. Harry looked at his watch. "Luna, we've got Defence first class so why not ask Quirrell about the abominables? He'd know what dark creatures live in this country and how to defend against them."

He exchanged glances with Hermione. She understood immediately he was hoping Quirrell would convince Luna that abominable snowmen were strictly isolated in the Himalayas.

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Ron Sees The Light

They waited for Ginny to finish her oats then joined the rising throngs of students making their way out of the Great Hall. Ron was soon hurrying after them, carefully skirting the clumps of Slytherins also moving in the same direction. It was not easy. A shoulder was against his. His schoolbag was jostled. He caught a glimpse of Zabini staring at him forcefully with a finger to his lips for a few seconds only – then the various eddies of children swirled in new directions and Ron was left wondering what that attempt at communication had been all about. _Keep quiet about what?_ he wondered.

"Wish we could have Dark Arts with the Ravenclaws instead of the stinking Slytherins," Ron moaned to his sister as they took their seats together.

"So you could sit with Olive instead of me?" said Ginny with her nose in the air in a pretence of aloof indifference. "I'm not good enough company now, is that it?"

"Course not!" hissed Ron as Professor Quirrell prepared to address the class. "She still needs me, Ginny." He stared forward at the Professor's desk, and added in a low voice, "What's that smokey thing in the glass tank for?"

"Take out your Basic Jinxes textbooks and turn to page 84, the Knockback," began the teacher. "We are fortunate this morning to have been contributed a Hinkypunk by a kind benefactor. This vaporous will-o'-the-wisp can lead the unwary astray so you need to know ..."

As Quirrell continued, Ron stared in disbelief at the envelope he'd just discovered just inside his bag on top of his textbook. It was secured with a plain wax seal, leaving no indication as to who it was from. "Hermione?" he whispered. "This is addressed to you." While Quirrell turned to inspect his captive creature in its tank, Ron leaned sideways and handed over the letter to Harry who dutifully passed it on after a quick glance.

Mouth twisting in puzzlement for a few moments, Hermione soon realised who it must be from and slipped it away in her own bag, pulling out a pair of Herbology goggles as she did so, then cast a darkening charm upon them.

"Aren't you going to read it?" murmured Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

"Later."

"Right, everyone wearing their protective goggles or glasses?" said Quirrell.

"Eh? What?" Ron scrabbled in his bag. Harry snickered and Ron saw his friend's spectacles had been transformed into sunglasses, and Luna, well, Luna was wearing a brightly coloured pair of what appeared to be dual kaleidoscopic lenses set in cardboard; Ron gaped entranced.

"Lumos Duo!" Quirrell cried quite forcefully.

"AAAGHHH!" yelled Ron, cupping his hands over his eyes.

Quirrell sighed. "There's always one, isn't there? Five points from Gryffindor." He walked over and cast an easing charm on Ron's eyes. "Your sight will recover in a minute or two."

Ron kept his face in his hands, hoping the bright dancing spots would go away, and murmuring to one side, "You might have warned me, Hermione."

"Me?" smirked Hermione. "Oh, sorry, I thought you could manage your life yourself now, Ronald."

"So you see," resumed Quirrell, "the Hinkypunk is dazed and become solid, enabling me to use the Knockback Jinx. One would need to use the spell several times but for this practice session I want each of you to use it only once. In an emergency, this method is also quite useful against the dark creatures I've listed on the blackboard, or even humans, as we've just seen. Any questions? ... Yes, Miss Lovegood?"

Ron heard Luna's voice pipe up in a doubtful tone, "Is that list complete? What if we used the double light spell on an abominable snowman?"

The class erupted into laughter, and even Quirrell smiled. "Rest assured, there are absolutely no yetis anywhere in the British Isles, Miss Lovegood. And by the way, thank your father for me again; this Hinkypunk is a wonderful specimen."

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First Hug

The Easter holidays arrived soon enough. Ron was smothered with attention by his doting mother who wasn't sure whether to hug or scold him so did both. Mr Weasley spoke to Olive and assured her he was doing all he could to locate her deceased brother's wife. As the friends parted at King's Cross station, Hermione faithfully promised Harry she'd visit him on at least one day to see his little sister who was now one year old, sitting up, and learning to stand.

"And, Hermione, be careful, whatever you're up to," Harry admonished her.

"What makes you think I'm up to anything?" smiled Hermione with a mock-offended tone.

"Hermione, you're always up to something or other. What is it this time? Teaching a dragon to fly? Building a house in space? Getting married to a goblin with three heads?"

"Harry, you'd never believe me if I told you."

With those words, they went their separate ways – he to Grimmauld Place, while she Apparated from an empty waiting room direct to her bell tower in Germany. "Busy, busy, busy..." she muttered to herself as the young girl rested a minute. As she did so, Hermione consulted once more the letter that Ron had given her, and nodded hopefully to herself. Nevertheless, she still had her fingers crossed when she arrived at Devil's Deep.

"Hermione!" squealed Imogene, running forward to embrace her.

"WAIT!" cried the much smaller girl, shocked anew by the astonishing, quivering flesh, and recoiling well back to cast a charm upon her Muggle jeans and top. "I've b–been trying out a d–desensitising charm but it doesn't last more than a few hours. Give it a few seconds to kick in as well."

Imogene wrung her hands and squirmed visibly. ... "Now?"

Hermione nodded. "Now."

They hugged each other a long time. Imogene could not keep back her tears. "Nobody's held me before. It's just like I imagined it from Mama's picture book." Hermione began to choke up a little too. Imogene's innocent nakedness was surreal and overwhelming, but the affection was genuine.

"We have to talk," Hermione said, before gently pulling away.

"This letter is from the Zabini family who have offered to consider taking you into their care for twelve months – I'm hoping longer if all goes well. They own a vast, open estate cared for by elves so you would be free to move about under the open sky without interference or offence. The lady has no husband and her young son is always at Hogwarts except for the summer holidays. If you are willing, I can take you to meet her, but there's no guarantee she'll definitely accept."

Imogene read the letter carefully. "Madam Zabini sounds... cautious, even... reluctant. Her offer would be only to pay off a debt."

"Anyone would be careful about accepting a stranger into their home, but I guarantee they will not ill-use you. She would honour the debt her family owes me, and anyway, the lady, while believing in the complete superiority of pure-blood humans, treats others with respect."

"What was the...? What service did you provide her?"

"I saved her son's life – or at least from a lifetime in a terrible prison for a crime he did not commit. He would certainly have been driven mad and likely died early."

Imogene had looked up from the letter, blinking in astonishment. "You are a good person, Hermione."

But Hermione gave no answer. She was staring past Imogene at Rita Skeeter, who had remained motionless far off to one side of the living area. Imogene followed her gaze and turned around. "Mama died some days ago. I didn't know what to do with..."

"Oh, Imogene, I'm sorry. I wish... that is, I feel awful that you had to remain here with..."

Hermione walked slowly over to the distorted corpse. "Will it be alright if I simply vanish her remains?"

Imogene nodded.

That was the last of Rita Skeeter. Hermione visualised the cadaver inching across the plains of non-being towards a mountain of dead bugs. She shuddered. It was time to go.

"Collect your things and we'll leave this place."

" _Things?"_

"Your personal possessions."

Imogene appeared confused.

"Have you nothing? Nothing at all?" Hermione winced at the stupidity of her own question. How could Imogene have ever owned anything?

"The quill is Mama's..."

"It's yours now." Hermione glanced briefly at Imogene's obvious lack of pockets. "I'll bring it for you. Anything else?"

Imogene gazed into the darkened sleeping alcove and sighed. "I'll miss reading Mama's book so much... Would it be too much trouble to...?"

"Of course!" smiled Hermione, and Imogene clapped her hands with delight as Hermione continued, "It's yours now and I'm sure the Zabini's will have a vast library of books for you to read."

"Truly?"

"Absolutely guarantee it. If not, I'll provide you with all the books you could ever want. You'll be able to curl up in a nice cosy armchair and..." Hermione flapped one hand over her mouth, visualising Imogene's tender bottom reacting to the fabric. "Imogene, where do you sleep?"

"I have my own corner," said Imogene proudly, walking over to a depression in the wall within which lay a crumpled sheet of what appeared to be light animal hide.

"What is that?" mused Hermione, half to herself, leaning to finger the material. Close up, it shimmered with faint rainbow colours, reminding her of Lily's shawl, and how she had blown her last breath upon the Tapestry of Life woven by the Fates.

"That was my chrysalis. I pupated right there."

"We'll take it. Perhaps we might learn from the material, and leather armchairs could be safe for you." Hermione brightened up excitedly. "We can do this, Imogene! We can do it!"

.

Sublime Avatar

Although Hermione had explained in her letter to Madam Zabini about Imogen's inability to wear clothing, the smart witch knew that merely reading about Imogene's overt nudity would not prepare anyone for the otherworldly nature of the woman's extreme voluptuousness and sensuality – not gliding naively into one's living room with complete abandon – the maiden simply transcended what was humanly possible. Some preparation was needed.

Immaterial and invisible, they discovered Madam Zabini waiting their arrival in a grand reception room off the main hall. Swiftly, Hermione swept Imogene into an anteroom that gave them some privacy, and there materialised them both.

"Wait here," Hermione whispered softly, and promptly vanished.

The girl had advised Madam Zabini that she would have to Apparate directly into her home, and the wards had been dropped temporarily at the appointed hour. After deliberately using that method in the main hall so that Madam Zabini would hear the sound, Hermione knocked on the door and entered, noting as she did so that her host was as attractive and as pleasing to the eye in her forties as Hermione remembered from her former life. It was obvious where Blaise got his good looks from.

The grand lady rose to greet her but a faint smile gave way to puzzlement when she saw how young Hermione was, and that she was alone. "My son never mentioned your age. His every description suggested someone more mature... your letters too..." She frowned.

"I am as you see me, Madam," replied Hermione, and gave a slight curtsy as was the custom at a first meeting in the ancient houses. "It did not seem appropriate to... that is, I have taken the liberty of placing Imogene in your side room to reduce the uuh... impact." Hermione smiled. "Her appearance does take a lot of getting used to as I cautioned you."

After a few moments, Hermione was relieved to see Madam Zabini's smile return. "I'm sure we can manage." She murmured something that Hermione did not quite hear and an elf appeared briefly then vanished again.

" _We?"_ said Hermione.

"Blaise is here. I insisted he should return and have a say in the matter. He is family after all."

Worry clouded Hermione's face, and she shook her head. "I don't think that would be a good–"

–The door opened and Blaise walked in, hesitated as his eyes alighted on Hermione, then said, "Ah, they're... you're here."

"First, you have something to say, son of mine," said Madam Zabini, quite sternly.

Blaise squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Miss Granger, I regret my former manners in your regard. Mother has kindly reminded me of the dignity and importance of all, despite status. In my defence, I am swayed by the necessity of how I might appear to other Slytherins at Hogwarts, but that is no excuse. I need to keep my distance at school but here I can offer you my unreserved apology for how I have treated you – and other Muggle-borns."

"Apology accepted," smiled Hermione, who already well knew the Zabini stance from her previous incarnation.

"Very well," said Madam Zabini. "Then shall we proceed, Miss Granger?"

A polite nod was Hermione's reply, and, with one additional doubtful glance at Blaise, she walked to the anteroom door and opened it wide. The Zabinis had followed her to the doorway and, despite having steeled themselves for what was expected, both froze – Blaise grabbing at the doorframe to hold himself upright.

Imogene did not curtsy – she knew nothing of employing such grand customs herself – but her eyes widened at the sight of Blaise. "Why, you're a young man! I expected a boy."

Madam Zabini recovered first. "My son is almost fourteen, young woman."

Imogene padded gracefully forward on bare feet across the polished wooden floor towards Blaise. Hermione stared, wishing her own flesh could move like that one day, yet knowing such was not normal; Imogene's form had a ripe lusciousness that was beyond womanhood and almost godlike.

And the goddess shook herself, the breasts appearing to swell even more, and the entire body trembling vigorously. "I need to see you..."

One glance told Hermione that Blaise was utterly, helplessly mesmerised. His mouth was open but no words came out. Imogene gestured that he remove his clothing, and that startled Hermione into action. "Imogene, I've already advised you that–"

"This is beyond you now, Hermione," murmured Imogene in a new, more certain tone, her eyes still riveted only upon Blaise who for the first time tore his eyes away towards his mother.

Madam Zabini struggled to speak firmly but her voice faltered as she said, "If this... person is what I think she is, Blaise ... I will not object if you ... comply ... in fact I recommend it."

"Mother! Miss Granger is here..."

"Even so..."

"What!" cried Hermione. "Madam, you must not allow–"

The simple dark blue house robe slipped to the floor, and the one undergarment that Blaise wore followed it. His dark complexion could not hide the flush in his cheeks, but all eyes were now on Imogene. As she stepped forward, the woman's shoulders and sides shook outwards, as though a pale but sturdy cape was expanding. Two dragonfly wings spread rapidly sideways, flickering with delightful translucent colours that rapidly fogged into opacity. For a few moments a wondrous butterfly with a woman's body was apparent, then those wings too metamorphosed into white, almost feathery, scales, and Imogene lunged up and forward, rising several feet into the air, briefly hovering over Blaise before – arms, legs, and wings wide – the creature plunged onto him.

Overwhelmed, the youth had already been falling backwards, but Imogene's limbs captured him, and the pair sank to the floor, she enfolding him in those feathery pinions until only the rapturous expression on Blaise's face was visible staring upwards.

"Madam, please!" cried Hermione, who was herself struggling to hold back a powerful separating spell.

"You have much to answer for, young lady. We should withdraw and discuss this," was Madam Zabini's only response.

.

Additional Obligation

Madam Zabini shooed Hermione ahead of her then cast a locking charm upon the anteroom door behind them. "Did you know about this? What she was?" demanded the matriarch. "I most certainly cannot shelter this person as payment of our debt."

"She's Veela, isn't she? Some form of Veela? I'm so sorry, Madam. I never saw her morph before."

Madam Zabini snorted. "Veela, you say? She is no Veela. Her pedigree is not even physical! I did wonder when you informed me of her sensitive skin but I never seriously considered... She's a nymph, Miss Granger, and not just any ordinary nymph – of which there are precious few. No, she is of the mystical lineage known as _angelus nympha_ – an angel nymph! And you bring her here into my home! You offer her as if our acceptance might enable my family to pay off a debt!"

"I didn't know, I'm so sorry, Madam."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Madam Zabini sank into an armchair and fanned herself with one limp hand. "Miss Granger, you do us a very great honour the like of which is unheard of. It is said that nymphs were the handmaidens of the gods. But the angel nymphs transcend even that. They have no human ancestry but descend into a suitable host. Always they are born in a lowly place and rise to greatness – serving where needed. The Fates themselves had a hand in this!"

Hermione blinked away the beginnings of tears and stared incredulously at Madam Zabini, who seeing her expression, said, "You're Muggle-born. You don't believe in the Fates?"

Hermione's voice was a reverent whisper. "Oh yes, trust me, I totally believe in them, Madam Zabini."

"Then perhaps you might begin to accept you have now burdened my family with..." Madam Zabini paused as if she herself were only just beginning to realise the import of what had happened. "... a double debt. Yes, the Zabinis are now doubly-indebted to the Grangers."

Hermione's mouth moved silently a few times before she could stammer, "I d–don't understand."

"Take a seat, Miss Granger." She waited until Hermione had done so. "Angel nymphs are infallibly drawn to their one, ideal partner and mate for life – for eternity in this life and the next. Such a consummation is always blessed. My son's future is now certain to be a happy, fruitful one where she is concerned."

"But he's still a child!"

"A curious statement coming from another child." Puzzlement flitted briefly across Madam Zabini's face."We're Italians, Miss Granger. He'll be of age in September and with my consent, he is effectively so right now in such matters as this. She's not his first, you know.

 _Lucky him,_ thought Hermione, thinking suddenly of Harry for no reason. "But she's–"

"At the end of her teens? Four years older? Angel nymphs have not the guile of a Veela. They are innocent and completely trustworthy." A sudden thought struck her. "Oh dear! Are you a prude, Miss Granger?"

"No, but..." She stared hard at the locked door.

"It's very unlikely they'll emerge this day. The angel will raise him to the seventh heaven and there they will dwell in harmonious union hour after hour. It is a great privilege that such a one has chosen my son. He'll take the certainty of that completeness back with him to Hogwarts in due course, not missing her, not yearning, but filled with satisfaction – though I'm sure he'll be spending every holiday at home after this and possibly a few weekends if we can arrange it with Dumbledore."

"So you'll accept her? Let her stay? Care for her?"

"Don't you trust me to do so?"

Hermione smiled. "I know the rumours are false. I meant–"

A frown showed on Madam Zabini's brow. "You know? What do you know, Miss Granger?"

"I meant I don't believe the stories about you murdering all your husbands for their gold."

"But you said 'know'. How could you know? Unless..."

Madam Zabini stood up and strode to the hall door where she called to an elf. She did not come back immediately but stared out into the hall, deep in thought. When she finally returned she avoided taking her seat to give herself more stature over Hermione. "I demand that you tell me what you know."

Hermione's mouth fell open. What was going on? "About...?"

"About my former husbands."

"Nothing. I know nothing."

"You're lying, Miss Granger, and you're not very expert in that behaviour – some say that's a sign of lack of practice and therefore indicates honesty, but I'm not so sure."

Hermione sighed. "I heard that you chose husbands who were already dying – ill or cursed or... very old."

Madam Zabini's wand flashed and her chair was drawn closer to Hermione's before she resumed the seat and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Back in Tuscany, the Zabinis were defrauded close to poverty by a group of foul wizards, and my father never recovered from the shame. With my agreement, Mother married me off to an elderly wizard when I was not yet fifteen. All parties understood what was entailed. I made the gentleman's final year a happier one, and in return inherited his modest estate. It was a step in the right direction and I learned much from it. Thereafter I selected husbands not for their healthy vigour but the very opposite. Careful research uncovered those whose mortality was very evident. Each was very grateful for my easing their passing and even willing to surrender their name for mine. The final one – Blaise's father – left me this wonderful manor, and here we remain."

She paused as a house elf dressed in a neat but plain grey dress, brought in a tea tray and left it unserved on a low table summoned from across the room. The creature departed as quickly and silently as she had appeared.

Madam Zabini poured and watched as Hermione took a few sips and had put down her cup to let it cool, before asking, "Miss Granger, I've never told another living soul what I've told you today, not Blaise, not even my mother knew most of it, and she's long since passed away. So, my question remains: how did you know? I am certain that nobody has searched my mind. You couldn't have known. It's impossible. Not unless..."

Hermione took several more sips of tea but said nothing.

"You Apparated here yet you are very much underage for such a licence. Presumably you even brought Imogene here using Side-along Apparition yet there was no sound from the appear only twelve or thirteen yet–"

"–I'm the same age as Blaise –" protested Hermione, careful not to slurp tea down her chin. "– fourteen in Sept–"

"–yet you sound far more mature than one so young."

"I see things." Hermione put down her tea with a clatter. "All my friends know. Oh, I'm not a true seer but I must have envisioned reading about you – or dreamed it."

"Never in writing," mused Madam Zabini. "and how could you dream of me telling you in the future that's not yet happened, I wonder?"

She drank tea for a while, watching Hermione closely over the rim of her cup.

"I'm a great student of magical lore and history, Miss Granger. It is written that an angelus nympha is always heralded by a great one. Are you that one? Might you even be–?"

CRASH!

Madam Zabini's cup had fallen back onto its saucer and she'd staggered to her feet, visibly agitated. "I hereby swear on my magic that I shall never repeat my history to you or tell anyone else!"

For long moments they glared defiantly at each other, matriarch and minor, until finally Madam Zabini burst out, "Merlin's Bones, you've lived this before, haven't you? It's the only explanation because I cannot have told you in this life, past or future. Have you? Lived before? Is it possible? Have you? I shall not rest until I know."

Hermione threw down her own cup as she jumped to her feet, wand drawn. "Madam, you force my hand! Only concern for Imogene holds me back. I demand payment of one of your debts to the House Granger!"

Madam Zabini had never been quite so dark of skin as her son, and now she paled even more. "Then it's true..."

The imposing lady turned her back and walked away a few paces to silently think through what she'd discovered. Hermione watched, uncertain how to respond other than to wait. Finally, Madam Zabini returned and, to Hermione's astonishment, sank submissively to her knees. "I am privileged to live at this turning point in history, Miss Granger, and to kneel before you. Ask anything of me, and if it is in my power, it shall be done."

Shocked, mute, Hermione stared blankly at the head of House Zabini paying her such homage. Several long seconds passed before she recovered.

"Madam, I intend to penetrate to your most secret memories. You must resist with all your might. Prove to me that my secret is safe with you and swear to it."

"I swear on my–"

Hermione gave her no warning. Madam Zabini felt as if her mind was being hit by a magical sandbag. Gasping, she clutched her head in pain and bent to the task of fighting off the Legilimens attack. Her endurance was formidable but needed no longer than half a minute to prove her defensive powers...

"Enough!" Hermione helped Madam Zabini to her feet. "You do not need to swear, just give me your word."

"You have it. Your secret is safe with me."

"And yours with me," agreed Hermione before continuing, "There will come a time when your support in the Wizengamot would be welcome. You will not be asked to compromise any of your deepest convictions."

Madam Zabini nodded. "Anything else?"

"Research. We are agreed that Magicals have powers superior to Muggles. What you do not know is that Muggles have different abilities far superior to Magicals."

A frown appeared on Madam Zabini's brow.

Hermione responded, "Do you know Mike Worthing, the entrepreneur?"

"I know _of_ him."

"Consult with him. You will need to approach Mike through his business address. I'll owl him that you're coming. Do not mention my real name. Give him my alias Rosemary Brown. Tell him that I request the two of you undertake regular discussions on the areas of Muggle superiority until you fully understand."

"To what purpose?"

Hermione replied, "If you also contact Jop Gair – covertly, not openly, at the Ministry – you will learn something of our future plans and where you might assist us."

"Us?"

"We call ourselves _The Cathesis League._ If the time comes when you are in agreement with our aims then you will be invited to join."

Madam Zabini let out a long breath. "Anything more?"

"Am I right in thinking you will accept Imogene?"

"As one of our own. She's a Zabini now in all but name."

For the next hour they discussed how Imogene would live, her freedoms and obligations, her tuition and guidance, and which materials might be enchanted to provide her with suitable attire – even if it were needed only briefly.

Finally, Hermione took her leave. The visit had been far more eventful and productive than she'd ever considered.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Thanks to Artur Hawkwing1 for reminding me about Ron's mum's reaction. Probably she would have rushed to Hogwarts but I've not mentioned that in this fic because it's not central to the story, so just imagine that happening offstage. I have shown her making regular contact by owl, and Ron does go home for Easter (again, offstage.)_

 _Kudos (but no house points) to bexis1 for realising it must be the Zabini family who take in Imogene._

 _JuliSt mentioned that Ron was pretty harsh describing Hermione. I see her more how JKR thought of her and not as in the movie. She won't blossom out until Book 4. I'm not sure yet what to do about her teeth because in my fic she deliberately didn't fix them, wanting to appear plain, uninteresting, and not draw attention. Ron does like Hermione in this – probably more than in the original, but finds it laughable anyone would consider her pretty – she isn't at this stage. His response might also suggest a hint that his interests lie elsewhere? Was he sending Olive a message?_

 _xxxLeanniexxx considers the Black Arc would now take notice of Ron. The answer is no, as will be seen later in the story._

 _I'm now vaguely aimed to update every 10.5 days which is 2 updates every 3 weeks for you non-mathematicians. So, alternate Thursdays and Sundays. That's more realistic for me. If I get further ahead then I might increase that rate to weekly again._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	58. 2:The Lost Children

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school. They discovered a mysterious gate into a dome of thorns in the Forest. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 58**

 **The Lost Children**

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Gold

Most of the rest of Easter, Hermione spent with her parents. In her accounts of life at Hogwarts she glossed over the difficulties and dwelt on the successes, such as her Potions class and the self-help group, Crest.

"We're proud of you, Hermione," said Mrs Granger.

Mr Granger spoke quite sternly and with a straight face, "Now go get us some more gold!"

"Edward!"

"Joking, Anne. Truthfully, Hermione, we couldn't be more happy for you and what you are doing." Then he winked and stage-whispered aside, "But don't forget the gold!"

Hermione laughed. "The fund must be huge by now, but we'll keep needing it for supplies and investments for the future. The ventures are developing but we can take nothing for granted."

Mrs Granger smiled. "Yes, well, it's Easter, about time you relaxed for a while, Hermione. And aren't you spending some time with Harry at the end of the break?"

Hermione nodded.

Perhaps she appeared a little dreamy for her father said, "Can't keep away from him, eh? I expect the Golden Boy is becoming a fine figure of a young man by now, right?"

"Dad! He's not yet thirteen!"

But everyone knew that behind Mr Granger's gentle teasing, he was happily in earnest.

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A Heart Filled with Peace

Two days Hermione spared to stay with the Blacks at Grimmauld Place. The weather was cool but pleasant, and the backdoor was often open to let fresh air through the hallway. Cadence giggle-burbled happily whenever a movement of air wafted the window blinds in the kitchen which was where the family had gathered on the final morning of the holiday.

Sirius was reading the Daily Prophet at the breakfast table. Beside him, Hermione was teaching cribbage to Harry who kept pulling faces and frowning as he lost hand after hand.

"Well, at least Fudge has shelved his plans to cut down the Auror service even more," murmured Sirius.

"I suspect Ingleton was the persuading voice behind that decision," said Hermione. "So... that's two pairs for four, a run for three is seven, plus fifteen-two, fifteen-four, that's eleven altogether," She moved her peg along with a smirk.

"What!" cried Harry, his hand rubbing furiously through his hair.

"Oh, and one for his nob, that's twelve."

Harry sighed. "Does a run of two cards count? Or is that only for a flush?"

Hestia appeared in the doorway looking concerned. "Harry, did you leave the garden gate off the latch?"

"I went out to watch where all those black bags disappear to each week. Some men came and took them away in a truck."

Hermione laughed. "Muggles can't just vanish their rubbish, Harry!"

"Well, I can't find Bunbun anywhere..." muttered Mrs Black, gazing around the kitchen floor in case the pet rabbit had hopped inside.

"Bubbum!" Cadence gurgled happily from her highchair, waving her arms wildly.

Sirius got to his feet. "I suppose I'd better go look for him."

There was a distant screech of tyres. Everyone stared at one another. Harry leapt up, craftily swept the peg board onto the floor with his sleeve, and ran to the window.

"I can see the top of a Muggle bus over the side fence!" Harry was already running out the backdoor after his mother who'd wasted no time on hearing the noise from the road.

Sirius and Hermione went to the doorway to wait. Harry and his mother returned very soon after. Cradled in Hestia's arms was a pitiful, squealing ball of fur. Hermione took out her wand but shook her head after a closer look.

Harry put a finger to his lips and guided his mother indoors and over to baby Cadence.

The rabbit became quiet and lay motionless the moment Hestia laid it before Cadence on the highchair's tray. The room itself fell still and silent as everyone watched. Hermione observed the look of expectancy and hope on everyone's face – all but the little babe. Cadence's eyes shone with warmth and her demeanour was calm and certain. Reaching out, she placed her hands upon Bunbun, and gently stroked his fur.

Hermione jerked back in astonishment as the rabbit sat up and bounded onto the floor where it hopped swiftly out the backdoor.

"Cadence is naturally gifted," said Mrs Black. "We're keeping quiet about it while she's young."

"But..." murmured Hermione, still getting over her surprise.

"Remember Neville?" Harry said quietly. "When he uuh... you know, was crying in the garden that time? She healed him of something that was hurting him. It was Luna's painting he told us about at Hogwarts."

"But that was later when we returned for our second year. Until then he still wished she were real."

"But the pain was gone. He could handle it after Cadence helped him let all that misery out. Remember how he changed after that? On the train back to Hogwarts even before he met Luna?"

Slowly, Hermione nodded. What Harry had observed was true, but Hermione had been too preoccupied to comprehend the significance. She gazed at little Cadence in awe. Those gentle eyes gazed right back. Peace filled Hermione's heart, and somehow she knew exactly the release that Neville had experienced.

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Absent Friends

A shock awaited the friends on their return to Hogwarts after the Easter break. At the evening dinner several of the staff were absent and the Headmaster did not wait for the students to eat before making his first announcement:

"I regret that two students who stayed at Hogwarts over Easter did not turn up for lunch today as expected and are still missing."

Ginny gripped her knife and fork more tightly and gaped at Ron who was wincing heavily as he held onto a silent groan. Hermione stared up at the heavens in consternation.

Dumbledore carried on: "Hagrid and other staff members began carrying out a search this afternoon and will continue until it is too dark to see. I cannot emphasise too much my annual caution that the Forbidden Forest is banned for a reason: very dangerous creatures live within its shadows. Under no circumstances should any student enter without supervision." His eyes seemed to fix on Harry as he continued in a frighteningly loud voice, "I shall take a very dim view of any other incursions for whatever reason! Leave it to the staff and prefects. Speak to your head of house if you wish to know more." The old man sank down rather heavily onto his chair.

"He's worried, you can tell," said Harry, "especially after what happened last year."

"I told her!" muttered Ron. "I mean, I told Luna uumm... nothing and you warned her, Hermione!"

"We've got to do something," urged Ginny. "She's my very best friend – and Neville too of course."

Harry, who all this time had been holding onto a serving spoon that was dug into a huge bowl of mashed potatoes, finally put it down. "Ron, you've got to warn McGonagall about what you know – you and Olive."

"Me? Why me? You should tell her. You're Harry Potter. She'll listen to you."

"Both of you ought to go," said Hermione, who had been staring at Draco Malfoy since the announcement, puzzled by his attentive reaction to what Dumbledore had said. "Meanwhile, Olive and I will speak with Madam Pince to see if we can find out more about those gates you saw, Ron."

"No!" cried Ginny, "she'll think you're planning something yourself. And what about me? What can I do?"

"Hmm..." mused Hermione, "you're right. We'll have to make out it's a study project and nothing to do with the Forest." But her mind was on Draco, who had risen out of his seat to speak to a sixth-year girl with short dark hair. Hermione glimpsed something on her robe that might have been a prefect's badge, and now Malfoy was heading out of the Hall. _He doesn't need permission to leave a meal early..._

She turned to Harry. "Don't give McGonagall any sign you might do something rash. Ginny, go with them to make sure. The Professor will expect you anyway, seeing as how you're Luna's closest friend."

"So you _are_ plotting something?" said Harry.

"Only to find out what we can first. I'll let Olive take the lead because Madam Pince will be eager to help her friend. If Luna and Neville are not back before morning, then..."

"Then what?" said Ginny.

"I don't know yet. But we're Crestors, and we're damn well not going to sit around on our–"

"–Damned right," said Ginny fiercely.

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The Fabulous Fable

The hour being late due to the long journey from King's Cross followed by the feast in the Great Hall, the library was silent and empty except for a couple of Slytherins: Malfoy and a bigger boy, who were sat at a reading table not far away, heads down together as if in deep discussion or studying the same book. A hint of confectionery tickled Hermione's nostrils.

"Olive!" beamed Madam Pince. "You've not long before curfew. I didn't expect any more visitors tonight."

"Hello, Irma. It's history research we couldn't finish before Easter so we daren't leave it any longer," replied Olive – quite smoothly, Hermione considered, because everything she'd said was true. "We thought you might help us find a book on the subject."

"Of course. What's the topic?"

"Long ago, were there any famous magical places protected by high bronze gates? And with blue illumination?"

Draco's head jerked up so violently that Hermione heard his skull clunk against his companion who tried to stifle an irritated cry – but not before Hermione realised it wasn't a boy but the short-haired girl she'd seen Draco speak to at dinner. Hermione put a hand on Olive's arm to try to steady her from saying too much.

"And a wall of thorns?" added Olive, oblivious to Hermione's intention.

Madam Pince was already nodding her head. "I don't know about the thorns, but there's an ancient story in _Fabulous Fables_ that could be relevant..."

She lead them towards the Myths and Legends section at the back of the library – much to Hermione's relief, for they were out of earshot of Malfoy and the girl.

"Strange, I'm sure the book was here before Easter because Percy Weasley was interested in Aesop, and asked if he could take it home for a bit of light reading. I told him definitely not, and I'm sure _that_ young man would never go behind my back and sneak it out while I was busy helping someone else."

Hermione glanced back down the library. Malfoy and the girl had left and no books remained on top of the reading desk they'd used. Perhaps they'd only been talking after all.

Olive looked so crestfallen that Madam Pince guided them both to her private office where she sat them down. "This is what I recall of the story," she began, looking suddenly thoughtful as she searched her memories:

"In the beginning, Magic attempted to create life, but the gods were angry because Creation was _their_ prerogative, and Magic's effort must, they concluded, be primitive and corrupt. They constructed a barrier around the world with a heavenly portal through which only true life and they themselves could pass, but–"

"The whole world?" said Olive.

"The world was a smaller place then," smiled Irma Pince. "Likely the writer meant the area around the Mediterranean and up into Europe which was all he knew. Blue is the heavenly light of that world, both sea and sky. Anyway, Magic then formed a more exalted, almost godlike, form of life which escaped the limits of the world. Furious, the gods sealed the portal anew and charged an immense Titan named Thuros with the task of holding the gates open only when they wished to pass to keep watch on Magic's activities."

Excited, Olive cried, "So if one could proceed through the portal, one would find a much greater universe? A more heavenly life? A higher life than this?"

"You always were the imaginative one, Olive," Madam Pince smiled, patting the young girl's shoulder. "Just remember, it's only a story, at best a crystallised, philosophical representation of the ancient paradise afterlife ideas."

"But could it be real?" squirmed Olive, eyes ablaze.

"In your dreams, Olive!" laughed Madam Pince. "Come on, it's time you second-years hurried to your beds."

As she lead them towards the exit, Olive said, "Irma, I've been working up the courage to speak to Myrtle now that I can, but... well, I regret I used to tease her a little all those years ago. It was only in fun but she took it seriously, and now I've suffered decades of guilt dwelling on my behaviour. Would you come with me? You were always closer to her than I was."

For several moments, Madam Pince had a distant look in her eyes, then, nodding slowly, she said, "Yes. I'd like that Olive. Perhaps together we can finally lay the ghost to rest."

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McGonagall and the April Snowmen

Meanwhile, there had been no answer when Harry knocked on the Deputy Headmistress's office door.

"Now what?" said Ginny, looking at Ron as if he might have an answer. But she didn't have to wonder long.

"What are you three doing outside of Gryffindor Tower this late? You should be preparing for bed." It was McGonagall approaching up the passageway, and she looked rather tired herself.

"We need to see Professor Dumbledore," said Harry, "erm... about our missing friends."

McGonagall frowned, as though anyone wishing to speak to the Head of Hogwarts about friends was a highly suspicious thing to want to do. "See Professor Dumbledore?" she repeated, "Potter, the Headmaster informed everyone at dinner not to interfere in–"

"We're not interfering!" cried Harry – rather bravely thought Ginny – "We're trying to help."

Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared. "The staff have the search for Lovegood and Longbottom well in hand, Potter. I suggest you all return to your dormitories."

"But it's important!"

"More important than his organising the search? The Headmaster left for the forest several minutes ago. Now, if you'll excuse me..." she added coldly, and moved awkwardly around the three youngsters as if to draw attention to the fact they were rudely blocking the way into her office.

"He's gone?" said Harry frantically. "Now? But can you get word to him?"

"About what? There is only an hour or so of daylight left, Mister Potter. His time is best spent helping to find your friends before dark."

"Look," said Harry, throwing caution to the winds, "We think Luna is on a hunt for Abominable Snowmen, and there's an iron gate at the farthest, deepest part of the Forest that–"

"Bronze," cut in Ron.

"Snowmen? In April? Deep within the Forest? Let me assure you," said McGonagall, "that Hagrid has Miss Lovegood's and Mr Longbottom's solemn promises to stay near the edge of the Forest, and he assures us that they have never failed to keep their word."

"But..."

"That's enough, Potter. The Headmaster knows what he is doing. Rest assured, your two friends will no doubt be safely tucked up in their beds before nightfall – and you lot should be too. Now, off with you."

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The Midnight Powwow

Harry, Ron, and Ginny waited up for Hermione's return from the library as long as they could, but the second-years were finally ordered up to their dorms by Percy Weasley, and had to comply. Seamus and Dean were already in bed snoozing, and, not seeing what else they could do till morning, Ron and Harry put on their pyjamas and turned in too – though not without Harry thoughtfully fingering his invisibility cloak for almost a minute first.

For an hour or so, neither of the boys could sleep – Neville's empty bed had glared accusingly at their inaction from a harsh chink of moonlight across the room – so it was with excitement tinged with relief that they faintly sensed, then saw, two ghostly nightgowns materialising through the shadows: girls, pale faces, hands, and bare feet included. Hermione, being well-used to sharing a bed with Ron in her former life, silently beckoned Harry to join them as she and Ginny perched themselves cross-legged beside the astonished redheaded boy who promptly cringed back, hugging the bedcovers up to his neck. Ginny giggled softly. Within moments, Hermione had summoned the bed curtains around them like a powwow tepee, then cast a silencing charm and a few flickering blue flames which illuminated their animated faces quite eerily.

Ginny said, "What are you up to under there, Ron? Been daydreaming about Olive, again?"

She'd already informed Hermione about McGonagall's unenthusiastic reception to their appeal, and the boys confirmed this.

"She wouldn't believe me!" grumbled Harry in a sullen tone.

Ginny said, "Well, you didn't exactly put a good case – all that about snowmen didn't help."

"But Professor McGonagall doesn't trust me..."

Hermione's smile was sad. "Don't worry, Harry, she doesn't know you that well yet. She'll learn to believe in you."

"The thing is, what do we do?" murmured Ron from his bedcovers. "What did Olive say? Did you find out anything useful in the library, Hermione?"

Hermione sighed. "Just that Madam Pince told us an old myth about the gods building a portal to a higher life that only they could pass through or something. I mean, really?"

"And what did Olive think of that?"

"She believed it. Seriously. Like a heavenly portal just happens to be a stone's throw from Hogwarts?" Hermione's huff almost puffed out the flames, but there was enough flickering glimmer for Ron to see her eyes rolling upwards.

"You shouldn't scoff," said Ginny. "Hogwarts was built at a concentration of magical energy lines. Maybe that's why the gates were built in the same area."

"And there's often some truth in these old stories," added Harry. "What if ancient wizards built the huge gates and dome thing as a Floo to somewhere? If only Magicals could pass through then Muggles would think they were gods on their way to heaven, wouldn't they?"

"But all this is less likely than Luna's Abominable Snowmen!" cried Hermione.

Harry said, "Hermione, the fact remains, that there's _something_ strange there, and Neville and Luna have gone to try to find it. Ron, what are the odds they'll reach the dome?"

"Not good actually." He pulled himself up a little with his pillows as a backrest. "Oh, if they manage to keep heading northeast then probably they'd see the blue light, but can they keep going that long? It will take them weeks and on the way, well, me and Olive saw loads of... uumm... you know."

"Dark creatures?" gasped Ginny.

"Luna's a bit erm... odd, but she's not stupid," said Harry. "Remember she said she had a 'top secret plan'? And why'd they wait until the last day of Easter?"

The four lapsed into silence: Ron still under the blankets but propped up by his pillows, the other three cross-legged before him looking gloomily morose in the strange light. His eyes suddenly opened wider as he recalled things Luna had said:

"Broomsticks, of course! She said something about a hole at the top of the dome like a giant lampshade. And neither of them have their own brooms here at Hogwarts. I suppose they might have tried to unlock the Quidditch store, but what if they were seen hanging around there? Perhaps they had to get brooms from Hogsmeade or something? I bet they've been flying through the Forest all afternoon. Don't know if they'd have found the dome yet though."

"You're forgetting their promise to Hagrid," said Ginny. "I've never known Luna to break a promise."

"Hmpf..." said Ron, slumping back, then his face lightened. "Not _break_ , but she _bends_ them, doesn't she? Promises, I mean? For instance, she might swear she's not going _up_ the Astronomy Tower but then go and fly _down_ onto it from above! What if they've been flying _over_ the Forest? She'd say they never left the edges of the Forest, wouldn't she? The top edge. Then she'd smile that innocent smile like she does, you know?"

"Maybe," said Harry, but he didn't sound convinced.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Ron, you said the gates were near the farthest edge of the Forest? What if they did go into Hogsmeade, bought broomsticks, then flew in from the other side of–?" She shook her head. "Oh, no, they–"

"–can't," Ron finished for her. "Even if they got permission to go out through Hogwarts gates to shop, they couldn't fly over the far walls – the wards would prevent that."

Out of habit, Ginny half raised her hand as if she were in class, and her mouth had fallen open. "I know what they've done..."

"What?" said Harry.

"She told me about when Neville first kissed her..." Ginny sighed at the memory. "Luna said the sky seemed to tilt over and the Earth moved. It was as if an angel had descended from heaven just for her. Even in the cold, his lips were warm and gentle and–"

"–Yes, yes, for Merlin's sake, Ginny, get on with it!" Ron wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as if something distasteful still clung there. "We don't want all the gory details!"

Ginny blinked back to the present. "Uumm... yeah, well, they snogged against the north wall out of the wind," then added in a surly mutter something about taking the romance out of everything.

"So?"

"Well, don't you see? They were _inside_ the wall. All they have to do today is keep flying along the inside of the wall and they'll go around the Forest's edge to the far side without ever going in deep – bending her promise like you said, Ron. I bet that's her top secret plan."

"Brilliant!" said Hermione. "How long would that take, Ron?"

"Mmm... dunno. Half a day or so?"

"So they might be camped against the far wall right now?"

Ron nodded.

"Then we have to tell McGonagall," said Hermione.

Harry blew hard. "P'uh! Like she'd believe us! Especially at..." He glanced instinctively at his empty wrist. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Gone twelve," said Hermione, and they all were hushed again, listening only to the night.

Harry whispered an aside, "Couldn't you Apparate to them, Hermione?"

Her reply was only a breath. "Nobody can Apparate to somewhere they don't know, Harry. They're on their own together out there."

More silence.

Ginny's gaze was faraway again. "Midnight in the wilderness with the boy of your dreams..."

Ron groaned but said nothing. Perhaps he'd remembered his own fantasies at that point.

Finally, Hermione said firmly, "We wait until daylight then we rob the Quidditch store, fly around the Forest, bring them back and they can say they got lost, while we go back to bed, get another hour's sleep, turn up for breakfast then go to Charms class as normal."

"Normal?" said Harry. "Like when does anything we do ever turn out normal?"

.

Hiding in Plain Sight

Harry was right to be sceptical that the rescue of Luna and Neville would be plain sailing. Very early the next morning, Ron insisted on fetching Olive but Hermione dragged him back with a summoning charm to the back of his school collar.

"Oy!" complained Ron, massaging his throat where his tie had almost strangled him. "You could have just said, you know."

"I'll go and ask her," she said. "You'll never get past the Ravenclaw door in a month of Sundays, let alone up into the girls' dorms. Meet us downstairs in a few minutes." Off she went.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny crept down the darkened marble staircase and into the Entrance Hall. It was not quite daybreak and the Hall was in deep shadow with only the last single torch still flickering on the far wall in anticipation of the coming day. A dragon could be lurking in the huge chamber for all they knew.

"Who's there!" Not a dragon but an older girl's voice.

" _Hide!_ " whispered Ginny, grabbing Ron's arm and pushing him towards the nearest wall pillar. She dived into the space under the stair.

Harry, who was cursing himself for not having used his map and invisibility cloak because it was almost morning, eased open a door and slipped into a small chamber off the Hall. It was completely dark once he closed the entrance, but he'd glimpsed enough to recognise it as the room to which McGonagall took all the first-years before Sorting. He felt his way to the far corner and squeezed in behind the portly statue of Gaylord the Gross.

Meanwhile, Ron was considering running back up the stair to divert attention from the others. In any case, the stone pillar seemed to have shrunk to the thinness of a lamppost and he became certain he'd be spotted even by the most shortsighted of prefects if they lit their wand which they would – he just knew they would.

He was right. A blaze of illumination suddenly burst forth halfway up the stair as a lone figure hurried down. Ron was almost blinded. Amazingly, the prefect rushed past him into the middle of the Hall. She pulled what looked like a man's fob watch on its chain from her pocket and consulted it.

 _The creep's rushing before curfew's over!_ thought Ron.

There was still time for him to bolt upstairs and draw her off, but would Olive be able to lead the others to the dome of thorns on her own? Neville's and Luna's lives might depend on it.

While he hesitated, the prefect strode to the side chamber, pulled open the door, and shouted in, "Out, you! Come out of there!"

Ron ran. He bounded up the stairs as fast and as noisily as he could. There was still a chance he might escape _and_ divert the prefect away from Harry. He headed in the direction of the Ravenclaw Tower; perhaps he could warn Hermione and Olive not to come down.

Ginny scowled as she watched him go. _Coward!_ but then her attention was drawn back to the smirking prefect and the dismal figure of Harry Potter shuffling guiltily into the incriminating glare of her spotlight.

Pulling himself erect, Harry cried, "What's wrong? I was going out for an early morning walk and opened the wrong door in the dark!"

"Dark? As in nighttime? You know the rules, Potter. Come with me."

"It's nearly five o'clock! It'll be light soon. Breakfast won't be long!"

"We'll see what your head of house has to say on the matter."

"She won't even be..." Harry tailed off.

"–Up yet? Because it's the middle of the night? Is that what you were going to say? We'll just have to wait then, won't we?" The prefect grabbed his arm and led him up to the first floor.

From the shadows, Ginny, with a helpless expression on her face, listened to him trudging overhead until the footsteps faded into the heavens. _Just me, then._

She tiptoed to the tall front doors and eased one open only enough to slip out into the cool night air. As she made her way round to the Quidditch stores, dawn was lightening the sky over the Forest to the east. _Where are you, Luna? Please be alive..._

A sob choked in her throat as that real possibility sank in.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Abdullahsaurus asked if an angel nymph is an actual mythological creature. No, she's based on the normal legendary nymph of course, but carefully modified for use in my plot._

 _leonix2009 feels the story is moving a little slowly. I guess there might be some truth in that, but it is a very long story. The main theme is world-saving but I put in all these adventures that support elements that are relevant to the progress of the story. For instance, Paul Ingleton, the Zabinis, Cadence, and lots of others. JK Rowling could have had Crouch Junior simply kidnap Harry Potter in Hogsmeade and not bother with the whole Tri-wizard Tournament, but Goblet of Fire is richer and more enjoyable with it, and introduces Fleur, Krum, Moody, dragons, and so much more. What do others think? Is the story slow?_

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	59. 2:Gaining Entry

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school. Neville and Luna have gone missing in search of a mysterious gate into a dome of thorns in the Forest, and the others plan to rescue them. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 59**

 **Gaining Entry**

* * *

.

Through, Over, or Around?

With Harry apprehended in the Entrance Hall by the Slytherin prefect, and Ron racing upstairs to warn Hermione and Olive, Ginny alone was left to search for Luna and Neville in the Forbidden Forest. She made her way round to the Quidditch stores in the dark with only starlight and guesswork to guide her. _Where are you, Luna? Please be alive..._

Not quite as proficient as the others, she struggled to cast a good enough unlocking charm on the supplies door. "Alohomora! Alohomora!" was her raised whisper as she whacked at the keyhole with her wand.

 _Wait, wait – cool it, Ginny. ... Deep breaths..._

After steadying herself for a few moments, she tried again in a more controlled manner:

"Alohomora."

The lock clicked and the door opened.

In swept Ginny, her witch's robes streaming proudly behind her, then remembered to close the door against nosy prefects. She cast both a dim light and a knowledgeable eye over the school brooms. Few were any better than average, but she had the entire stock to select from with no other students fighting for dibs. She picked out a half-decent one, then surveyed the remainder, wondering if there was any chance her friends might not have returned to their dormitories but be making another attempt. She could save them some time here. From the stack she picked out a thick broom that looked reliable and steady for Hermione. Ron she knew would favour the swiftest. Finally, she chose a medium Keeper's mount for Olive that she felt would serve reasonably well no matter what her taste.

She placed them near the entrance, put out her light, then carefully opened the door – only to be hit by an unlocking charm which burst several laces on her underbodice. "Ron!"

"Ginny! We thought you'd run away!"

"Me? You're the one who bogged off!"

"I was trying to divert Farley and warn the others."

"Oh. Sorry. Who?"

"That prefect. Olive says her name is–"

"–definitely Gemma Farley if she's got short dark hair and an attitude to match," nodded Olive, moving forward with a frown. "Slytherin robes, didn't you say?"

Ron growled something unrepeatable.

"So, is Harry...?" Ginny briefly lifted herself on tiptoe to glance over their shoulders into the darkness, but sensed only Hermione anxiously trying to peer in through the entrance. Ginny stood aside to give them access, closed the door once more, then Hermione cast a wandlight.

Ron shook his head. "We heard knocking on McGonagall's door – Farley made Harry do it loudly on purpose so ol' stiff-lips'll be in a right mood to be gotten out of bed at this time of the morning. Come on, we need to get moving and it'll take us a while to find any decent brooms."

"I picked one out for you all just in case..." Ginny said, pointing at the stack.

"Good one, Ginny!" cried Ron, grabbing the fastest-looking one with fairly straight twigs.

"This is yours, Hermione," said Ginny.

Olive nodded approvingly as she took the remaining mount and examined it. Broomsticks didn't interest her in the least but she was a reasonably competent flier.

"So, what's the plan?" said Ginny. "Do we swing round, push through, or swoop over?"

"Definitely not through," said Ron. "It'd take much longer and the arrows of those Centaurs looked wicked sharp."

"Over, then?"

Hermione's mouth twisted about anxiously. "It'd be rather high, won't it? Some of those trees? Oh, and we're fairly sure that Luna and Neville would have gone around," she added quickly, "so we might spot clues or even find them in twenty minutes with uumm... a broken broom...?" The last was uttered in a kind of feeble, hopeful tone.

"You wish!" grinned Ron. "Come on. I'll lead the way high, and Olive and Ginny can steady you on your baby broom near the ground." Then he remembered his newly-forming manners. "Or Olive, you could lead if you prefer?"

""We'll take turns," she smiled back at him, yet somehow they both knew she'd not detract from his captaincy.

.

Flight to the Unknown

The four youngsters, staffing with their broomsticks on the first leg of the journey, began walking north-northeast, well about the back of Hagrid's cabin and following a route that Hermione knew was virtually a blind spot to anyone watching from the castle. Little did she know that omnioculars were following their progress from observers already within the trees further south. Yet another, keener pair of eyes observed their approach from the bough of a stout beech tree on the fringe of the trees ahead. Of the four children, only Hermione could sense this 'watcher in the woods' for it was her good familiar, Aculus, the raven.

"Why come you this way, Mistress?" the bird whispered after alighting on her shoulder. "I sense your anxiety and it is affecting me."

Hermione dropped back behind the others, pretending to examine something in her bag before replying in a low murmur, "Aculus, have you seen anything of my two other friends, Luna with the long blonde hair, and Neville? And other searchers? Anyone else up early?"

"Your friends passed this way yesterday and proceeded inside the perimeter wall. They carried broomsticks as do you. Two others I've glimpsed further south better prepared to travel into these woods with backpacks, broom staffs, and maps. Tell me, are you all headed into danger?"

Hermione sighed and closed her bag. "Come along if you will, Aculus. We are aiming for a folly: a blue light, a bronze gate, and an obstruction of thorns on the far side – do you know of such?"

"I keep well away from those gloomy trees for there is nowhere to perch, nothing to eat, and naught but fetid warmth and doubt in the air."

"Decay? I see. Well, stay behind if you're afraid, we can manage." Hermione's wink twisted the left corner of her mouth into a lopsided grin.

"Hmpf! There is nowhere my mistress may go that I will not follow."

"Bless you, Aculus, I knew you would. Let it so be!"

She caught up with the others, and Ginny, who had heard her muffled mutterings, gave her a funny look. "Everything okay?" she whispered.

A tiny nod and an expression touched with new hope was Hermione's only reply.

"Ron?" she called in a low voice, and he paused in his stride to look back. When she caught up, Hermione said, "Did you or Olive smell anything odd when you were at the big bronze gate?"

"Not really," said Ron. "Our sense of smell and taste wasn't very good then though."

Olive shook her head as she wrinkled up her nose. "There might have been a faint odour, but the woods are full of both dead and living things so that's no surprise."

 _Living? Dead?_ Hermione's thoughts became filled with visions of a different kind of afterlife to the one Madam Pince had implied – the one place where you didn't want to end up.

As they approached the north wall nearest to the Forest edge, Ron turned to squint back through the failing grip of night. "We're out of sight of the castle. Time to mount up."

Ginny eyed the stout stone buttresses and tried to imagine Luna and Neville cuddling up there during the previous Christmas. A sigh escaped her lips as she swung a leg over her broomstick.

"Having second thoughts about the risks? You don't have to do this," said Hermione, quite kindly, as she remembered Ginny was still only eleven – for a few more months anyway.

The off-guard Weasley glared back at her. "No! I was just..."

She kicked off the ground to race after Ron, then slowed down as Ginny noticed Olive waiting for herself and Hermione. She did her duty – despite feeling slightly aggrieved that her courage seemed to have been in question – to help Olive support Hermione as they sped along with the imposing stone wall on their left and the Forest on their right. Within half an hour the pale daylight was silhouetting the treetops ahead of them, bluing the blackness above, and lifting Ginny's spirits, so soon the girls were chatting excitedly together as they chased her brother.

Hermione, breathing heavily at the pace set, gasped out, "Tell me again about this prefect – the one who caught Harry."

"I didn't get that good a look at her," said Ginny, "but she must be blind as a bat bogey to have missed Ron. Even I could see him in her wandlight."

"So how'd she find Harry so easily?"

"Probably heard him closing the annexe door."

"Did you? Hear him?"

Ginny frowned and Hermione clutched her broom handle tighter to risk glancing sideways at her expression.

Olive leaned in to steady a sudden wobble in Hermione's flight, and said, "From the way Ron described her, it could only be Gemma Farley. She's a sixth-former but still something of a tomboy. Crops her hair. Hangs around with the lads more, if you get my meaning."

"Was that the girl we saw with Draco in the library?"

"Could have been. I didn't really take much notice of them."

"We never mentioned the Forest to Madam Pince, but Malfoy might have guessed Harry would try to find Neville and Luna. Draco never misses an opportunity to get him in trouble."

"Why?" said Ginny. "Malfoy's a git but he's always behaved reasonably with Harry and us. Oh, you mean–?" She found herself unable to continue as Hermione's Fidelia charm held her tongue concerning the smart witch's former life. "HOW FAR, RON!" she shouted, changing the subject quickly.

" _FAR? ARE YOU CRACKERS, GIN? IT'S HOURS YET!"_ came from high up ahead of them.

He was right. Midday was approaching with the sun flooding the light grey stone of the wall when he finally swooped down, but it wasn't to end their journey:

"STUPEFY!"

Wands came out in support, but no one else could see an enemy. "Ron?" called Hermione to the boy who was circling low over something on the ground.

"It's a Grump Grouse. They're good eating if you don't mind the grumbles. I thought we might light a fire and... you know..."

Hermione released a low growl of frustration. "There's no time for cooking! Save it for later when we celebrate our return." Hermione was first off her broomstick, and even before Ron could open his mouth, it was she who was suggesting they snack quickly on their packed brunch. But the way she slumped down onto the grass and leaned back against the comforting solidity of the sun-warmed stone blocks told them she was glad to be on terra firma once more.

.

Life After Death

They picnicked in moderately silent mood except for inconsequentials, aware that they could not dally long, but fortifying themselves against what was to come. Hermione noticed Olive sat nudging elbows with Ron and wondered how much of that was still the craving for physical contact with the world of people.

"So, Ron..." began Olive, as she began nibbling on another ham sandwich, "those Grump Grouses don't really hop around grumbling, do they?"

"No, only while you cook them."

"RON!" Olive stared at him, trying to sense if he was joking or not. The other two girls kept a straight face.

"Look, corn makes a popping sound, and sausages sizzle and bang, right? When you fry up a Grump Grouse the skin makes a kind of growling, grumbling sound – it's because it's so thin, I think. That's why they're nice and crispy." He looked at her face. "You didn't think we cooked them live, did you!"

Ginny and Hermione burst out laughing at Olive's expression.

"Technically, Ron," said Hermione, "the cells of a freshly-killed animal remain alive for a while and are then taken over by other living organisms so they–"

Olive stopped eating, her eyes wide upon her sandwich.

Hermione grinned. "Don't worry, Olive, your ham was dry-cured by the Hogwarts house-elves. It's been lifeless for months.

Putting down her sandwich, Olive forced the talk onto their objective. "So you glimpsed the thorn trees in the distance, Ron?"

"Can't miss them really, and they're not so far now. The tops of the trees are darker a bit further on. If most of it is that dome-lantern thing, then the back of it might even extend as far as this wall."

"So we need only follow the thorn boundaries inwards until we find the gates again?"

Ron nodded. "Or we could try flying over to see if there really is an opening up there – you can bet that's what Luna would do."

Hermione shook her head. "I'd like to see those gates – purely for research if nothing else, you understand."

They all knew why she was in no hurry to get on her broomstick again, especially to fly so high.

She stood up, brushing crumbs off her school robes, then said briskly, "Might as well walk from here. Don't want to miss any clues." She took out a notebook and a Muggle ballpoint pen and pretended to write something.

Ginny exchanged grins with Olive.

On they trekked, each carrying a small pack and employing their inverted broomsticks as walking staffs again. Mostly, they gazed into the Forest – for that would be where any danger might come from.

The first stunted thorn tree came into view within ten minutes, and only a few paces inside the treeline. Hermione waded in through the undergrowth and studied the spiky bark but there was nothing much to learn. "It's not so big. They're unclimbable?"

"That's just a baby compared to the others further on," said Ron. "Apart from the spines, there's nothing to cling to and those clumps pull away easily – they won't stand anyone's weight."

She squeezed a hand between the thorns and felt the scaly bole. Her head recoiled slightly and a puzzled look crossed her brow.

"What?" said Ginny.

"I feel a tiny drain on my magic. Something's not right..."

Ginny tried but wasn't sure.

"We never noticed anything before," said Olive.

Ron pursed his lips. "Yeah, but we couldn't really feel much of our magic anyway, could we?"

As they proceeded – remaining just inside the Forest edge now – and the thorn trees became bigger and more prevalent, they all began to feel a slight but worrying loss of their powers. Weakening of magic is akin to a Muggle losing a limb or being trapped underwater – they all became very uneasy at feeling so vulnerable.

"I'm going back," said Hermione.

"What!" cried Ginny. "You can't! Luna needs you!"

"Just away from most of these thorns. "I need to be certain this weakness is not permanent."

"It wasn't for me and Olive when we were here before," said Ron.

"That's right... that's right..." muttered Hermione, hesitating with a step back and forth then agonisingly frozen in the middle. She knew the world might depend on her decision. Horrible thoughts plagued her mind, 'The Greater Good' being the name of one of them. How much easier it is to choose the few you know rather than the many whose faces you may never see.

"I'll run and come back," she said finally, not even certain herself if she would return.

She did. Within a minute she was back, panting but showing a rueful smile. It had been obvious her magic was increasing as soon as the thickest of the thorn patches was behind her. Nobody said anything but she sensed the criticism in the air. Hermione sniffed. Then paused again.

"There _is_ an odour..."

"Oh... sorry," said Ron, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"Ron, you daft beggar!" Hermione's grin was weak, but she was grateful for his humour. "I meant the decay. Let's crack on."

The four strode onwards then with more purpose until it was clear the thorns were now impenetrable.

"That's it? Your dome?" flapped Hermione. "That's not even a wall, that's just a dense thicket!"

Ron looked upwards. "You can't really sense the height or the curve from here, we're too close. Wait till you see it from the clearing where the gates are." Ron's confidence was displayed in his stride as he lead them deeper into the woodland. There was no risk of losing their way so long as they kept the barrier of thorns immediately to their left. Ten minutes ... almost fifteen ...

Hermione kept testing her decreasing magic, eventually having to use her wand.

"There! What did I tell you!" Ron cried, pointing to the faint blue glow perceptible through the prickly route before them. "And the warmth? Feel it?"

"No," pouted Hermione, then sighed her acceptance, "but I'm sure I soon will."

.

Rite of Passage

As they emerged into the bristly glade, she staggered back into Ginny behind her, all eyes staring up at the majestic bronze work. "My God..." murmured Hermione, in awe at the scale of the gates which seemed to tower up and away forever into misty blue.

"Yeah?" grinned Ron, then again, "Yeah?"

"Ron, this is so much more than I thought it would be..." whispered Hermione.

Above was a patch of blue sky but not much of it, for the thorny maze hemmed it in on all sides. The view through the gates was gloomy, relieved only by a blue haze as she tried to peer between the metal fretwork. The smell of decay was stronger now and she looked around for Aculus, sensing him trying, without success, to find a place to perch. Furtively she pointed to her shoulder again, and the raven whispered his gratitude in her ear.

"The blue light seemed brighter at night," said Ron, "but it's much warmer today."

Olive said, "We didn't feel hot and cold so much then, remember?" Perspiration was forming on her brow. "And it's almost summer now."

"Any idea how we might unlock it and get inside, Hermione?" asked Ron. "They must be rusted shut after centuries, I suppose."

"Bronze doesn't rust, Ron, but... well, I'm surprised it's not corroded more over the centuries. Could be this environment, or perhaps it's magically protected in some way."

Ginny strode forward and gave the gates a big push. Very slowly – tantalisingly so – the enormous mass of the gates swung from her touch on silent, well-balanced hinges. She gasped at what she saw. Everyone did.

The dark blue mud that Ron had observed on his first trip was sliding away from the entrance, almost as if being swept clear by the gates yet several paces beyond them, leaving a semi-circle of rock slabs and dark brown earth much like without but sloping down within, suggesting a vast basin of mud that would be quite deep further inside the dome. Despite being the middle of the afternoon, the sky through the gates was a mostly dark silhouette of thorns extending far forward into the haze.

With this new perspective, Hermione noticed the runic lettering atop the gates and scrabbled for her notebook. There was a tearing sound, but it wasn't a torn page; Ron had come to an abrupt halt as he tried to step cautiously through the gateway and wave away the haze. "My sleeve!" he cried, stepping back. "Something's ripped my robe!"

The sleeve of his robe was indeed pushed back past his elbow and hung in tatters. "Mum'll kill me!"

Olive soothed him. "Ron, Ron, the house-elves will fix it for you and no harm done."

"But it tingled on my skin! The blue light I think ... or something." His staring into the azure gloom was akin to watching the descent of night once more.

"I think they're swinging shut again," he added. Ron was right; almost imperceptibly the gates were rotating back to them.

"Let's think this through before we go in," said Hermione, frowning as she jotted down the ancient script atop the gates. "Makes no sense to me..."

But Ginny, who was mopping her brow with her handkerchief, had pulled up her sleeve and reached out past the gateposts to confirm the sensation that Ron had experienced. She examined her hand. "Tickles but no damage."

"Except to my bloody school robes!" grumbled Ron with a swift kick at the edge of the nearest gate. "Aaagh!"

"What now, Ron?" Hermione cried in exasperation. "Why didn't you wait before blundering in? We might learn something first."

"But my shoe!" He pointed. The toes of his right foot were exposed and the leather of his school shoe was burst open and splayed around them. "My sock too!"

"Oh, Merlin's mucky pants! Your sock needs darning!" cried Ginny in mock horror. "We'd better give up immediately then. I mean, your sock!"

By now, the gates were half-shut again. She balled up her hankie and threw it forward between them. The cloth appeared to hit an invisible wall at the threshold and fluttered down at her feet. "It's not ripped though," she said curiously, picking it up to examine it. "I think we have to creep through slowly then we'll be alright..."

"Ginny...!" Hermione looked up from her scribblings.

But Ginny had already stepped slowly forward – then stopped. "I can't."

"Can't what?" said Hermione.

"Can't move forward."

"The gateway's stopping you?"

"No. ... My robes."

"Oh come on!" Hermione moved closer to her to see but took care not to step beyond the gateposts. Carefully she leant her head forward a few inches to look sideways at Ginny. "It's like you're pressed against invisible glass and – ouch!"

Olive pulled Hermione back. "One of your hairgrips came out." She picked it handed it over.

Scrutinising it closely, she considered it had been slightly bent, but apart from the tingling sensations she'd felt, her face appeared uninjured. _What is different between my face and socks and hairgrips and..._

"We're alive," said Olive, quite solemnly, almost as if she knew what Hermione was thinking. " _only true life..._ " she murmured half to herself

"What did you say?" Hermione felt Olive's words resonating in her mind and knew she'd heard them before.

Olive's eyes had lit up with wonder and she cried, "Hermione, don't you remember what Irma told us? _The gods built a heavenly portal through which only true life could pass?_ "

Hermione shook her head, and little beads of sweat trickled down her face. "Oh, Olive..."

"Must be!" cried Olive. "Look!" Very slowly she tried to push her broomstick, bristles first, through between the closing gates. The twigs splayed out as if pressed against a wall. "Now me!" Olive dropped the broom then rolled her sleeve up almost to her shoulder before reaching carefully forward. "See! My arm goes through because I'm alive and the broomstick's not! But think what heavenly life has passed through this portal! Nothing dead or corrupt or primitive can go through, they said! What wonders lie ahead! We may ascend into glory!"

"Olive, I think you're reading too much into this..." said Hermione, looking down again at her rough copy of the runes and wishing she could interpret them.

"You're wasting your time making notes," said Olive. "You must have heard the expression, 'You can't take it with you.' You won't be able to take them nor anything else, just you, just your life."

Hermione stared at the girl, her jaw slack with the realisation that she must be right. "Ron! Your chicken!"

"I am not! But if you think–"

"–No, your Grump Grouse! You only Stupefied it right? Give it here!"

"Erm... it was heavy so I stuffed it in your bag when you weren't looking, Hermione," he said, wiping sweat off his face with the back of his good sleeve as he turned sheepishly away.

"You what!" She opened her beaded bag, rummaged inside, then pulled out the stunned bird. "You did realise it wasn't dead, didn't you? Leastways, it wasn't."

"One way to find out," urged Olive, holding out her bare arm to Hermione.

Hermione gave her a studied look, then handed over the limp fowl. Olive took a couple of steps to line up once more with the gateposts then carefully held out the bird. It passed over the threshold without harm. "It's alive," affirmed Olive as she placed it back in Hermione's hands. "Now what?"

"Avada Kedavra!" The wand of Hermione flashed through the air as she tossed the bird then caught it again.

Ron and Ginny gasped but Olive screamed in astonishment. "You cast an Unforgivable! How could you...? They're illegal even for adults, but you're only twelve! How could you possibly even master such a curse at your age? And I can scarcely cast a spark here in this place!" The girl was shaking, and Ron went over to put an arm around her shoulder.

"Thirteen," correct Hermione, "and I'm almost fourteen. Should I have knocked dinner on the head with a rock ... or cut its throat with a knife? The result is the same. But I admit I reacted impulsively and hope you can keep this to yourself, Olive. I know my friends will." She looked at Ron. Ginny was pale, but perhaps it was the blue light counteracting her natural complexion. They both nodded.

"The killing curse is more humane than using an axe; it's when and how you use it that matters," said Hermione as her wand blasted a slab clear of earth underfoot and she laid the bird upon it. With a more domestic spell she rapidly flayed the bird amidst a flurry of feathers, then carried the dripping skin to the gate. They were now almost closed and Hermione gave them another push.

After rolling up one of her own sleeves, she carefully, and very slowly, held it out successfully through the gateway. "The cells of this are still alive. I'm hoping it won't disintegrate if it dies inside the dome – after all, there is earth and stone in there already, so it's just the passing through which blocks dead matter."

She cast a Hot-Air charm to dry the skin then laid it down just inside the gate straight away in case too many cells died before they were ready to enter themselves.

Olive said quite seriously, "You'll have nothing to write with in there."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Perhaps I can make charcoal..."

She summoned a large clump of thorns from a nearby tree then pushed them through the gateway before releasing them. "Incendio." Hermione frowned and aimed more carefully. "INCENDIO!" A jet of orange and red flame shot from her wand but dissipated at the boundary of the gate. Growling to herself, she tried to gently push her wand through but was blocked. Finally, she pushed her arm through and drew on all her reserves to cast the spell wandlessly. "INCENDIO!"

Nothing.

"Oh, no... there's absolutely no magic working in there at all. I was relying on that."

Ginny groaned. "Then what about Luna? And Neville? How could their broomsticks fly down?" She winced as she looked at her brother's tattered sleeve and shoe, and visualised Luna flying down into that non-magical hell.

Ron tried to console her. "If it's this blue sludge that's stopping magic, then maybe they could have flown down near the ground and–"

"–crash-landed!" cried Ginny. "Hermione?"

Hermione was crouched low and reaching to the clump of thorns she'd place beyond the gateway. Detaching one thorn, she pricked her finger quite viciously then began to scribble her blood onto the grouse skin. She worked quickly, glancing up repeatedly to inspect the runes worked into the metal lattice at the top of the open gates, then copying them as best she could onto the makeshift parchment. The others winced as she had to repeatedly jab herself, but she'd braced herself against the sting by the need for haste.

"That will have to do," she said finally, holding up the bloody skin and careful not to pull it back over the boundary.

"This is all very well," said Ron, but I still don't see how _we_ can ever get through the–"

"–Oh, Ron! Use your common sense!" cried Ginny. "We'll have to strip!"

The notion had vaguely occurred to all of them, of course, but they'd pushed it to the back of their minds as absurd. Now that Ginny's words forced them to share the obvious truth, each was affected differently. Ginny herself flushed a pale pink and turned her face away to examine her handkerchief again. Ron blustered and spluttered incoherently and his ears turned red. Olive was the most perturbed; she was a forties' child, and even the mention of nakedness was acutely embarrassing.

Hermione had no such reservations. "I'll go alone. You three wait here and guard my things." She put down her beaded bag and began to remove her clothing.

"Hermione!" cried Ron. "Give me a chance to turn my back at least!" He walked off aways to the first bend in the thorn labyrinth around which they'd originally come.

"But Luna's my friend..." said Ginny. She was visibly squirming – not for long. "I'm coming with you."

"Ginny, you don't need to," said Hermione.

"Yes, I do," said Ginny, slowly loosening her robe while glancing around to make sure Ron was still facing away from them. She bit her lip, hesitated, then began to undress.

Olive, meanwhile, was in a state of misery and began to cry, muttering and blubbering, "I wanted so much to..." She stared in through the gates, in an agony over what she might be giving up if she forwent this opportunity.

Packing away wand, broom, and the last shred of clothing into her beaded bag, Hermione walked over to try to comfort the girl. "Probably it's nothing like you imagine, Olive..."

In her peripheral vision, Olive glimpsed Hermione's nakedness and cringed away. Wailing, she took a couple of steps to one side.

Ginny called out, "Can I put my pack in your bag, Hermione?"

"Sure. Ask Ron to take care of it while – on second thoughts, I'll ask him."

"NO!" cried Olive, running around in a wide circle to avert her gaze. "You can't let him see you like that! And what if he looks inside your bag? He'll see your undies!"

Hermione sighed. "It's him, isn't it? Because he's a boy?" She turned to shout to the lad in question. "Ron, go round the corner for Heaven's sake! When we're inside we'll call you, then come back and guard my bag!"

Ron's head half-turned to listen but Olive squealed so he yelled, "Okay!" and vanished round the corner.

" _Now_ will you come, Olive? Last chance to discover paradise..." coaxed Hermione. She gestured to the gates which had almost closed again.

Wringing her hands, Olive made a brave effort. "You go in then, while I get undressed."

Hermione turned to Ginny and rolled her eyes. "Ready?"

Ginny nodded and, for some reason, the two held hands as they walked forward, pushed open the gates one more time, then stepped through.

"Wooo, tingles all over," said Ginny, rubbing her forearms. At least we're nice and warm, but wooo... that is so tickly."

"Probably dead skin cells flaking away," mused Hermione. She glanced back; Olive was half-turned away, waiting for them to go behind the gates but trying not to look at them directly.

Hermione whispered, "Oh, for Goodness sake, come on, Ginny."

She picked up the grouse skin and a handful of thorns, then they cautiously moved beyond the gates to one side. The dark blue mud was a little slippery and warm but felt safe to walk upon if one was careful. They waited. Occasionally Hermione glanced at her empty wrist, wondering what the time was. She was just about to check on Olive when the girl appeared, face scarlet, arms folded tight across her chest.

"RON! WE'RE GOING!" shouted Hermione, and Olive scurried aside out of the gateway's line of sight. Ginny had to share a smile with Hermione. She was getting used to her exposure but poor Olive was suffering – though not as badly as Ron...

.

Unwelcome Visitors

Ron had accepted the dishonour of not even attempting to volunteer for a potentially dangerous mission – he'd rather fight Voldemort than bare himself before three girls – but he now had a terrible guilt. When Hermione had ordered him – yes, _ordered_ him, he fumed – out of sight, the dismissal seemed to cut deep into his manliness, while Olive's subsequent girly squeal evoked it. The conflict was extreme. He imagined Olive as he'd never seen her during their time together, and the temptation to peek through the prickly corner of thorns was overwhelming. He fought to master the sensation, of course, and fought well. Minutes passed and he'd assumed his success, when Hermione called again that they were leaving.

His limbs moved of their own volition. Ancient instincts took over. One glimpse by accident could not be a crime, could it? And, of course, the girls were leaving so he needed to confirm they'd gone, he told himself. Framed in the tiny gaps in the prickly hedge he saw Olive fleeing. One second of astonishment. Then the flood of unworthiness and anguish took him.

Poor Ron. His head hung low and he slumped down to sit on the ground. Even the barbed spikes at his back merely reminded him that he still wore robes that now seemed thick as an elephant's hide compared to the girls' exposure to the unknown. Head in hands, he considered himself less than filth. Olive was the sweetest girl he'd ever met. So dependent had they been on each other, that never a moment's conflict or mistrust had arisen between them. He could not endure his betrayal of her friendship nor her innocence. Silent as the grave, he was wishing the earth would swallow him up, when a distant sound caught his attention: voices!

Hagrid! Dumbledore! Snape! Ten thousand prefects – all would be rummaging through the underclothing, laughing drunkenly, and he himself would be scorned for not leading his helpless team of girls safely and manfully through fearful terrain to rescue and return with the lost children.

Nothing less could have roused him from his stupor. Up he leapt and raced back to the gates: they had already closed as silently as they'd opened. Where were the girls' robes and undergarments? Where? Frantically he looked around. There was Hermione's bag! Of course, they'd put everything neatly in there! Seizing it, he sprinted for the only exit from the clearing – the same way he'd just entered – only to hear the voices approaching. Where to hide within this empty glade? Where to go?

Tugging away clumps of thorns from the farthest, darkest corner, he squeezed into a gap, then dragged what twisted clusters he could after him, spots of blood mixing with sweat, and pain mixing with relief.

Just in time! Two figures entered, both employing broomsticks as walking staffs, one also clutching a map which he absently folded up as he stared across the clearing in astonishment at the huge gates barring the way forward through the thorns.

"This is it, Farley! Look, bare footprints in the dirt! They've already entered!"

The older girl nodded, and they both peered through the bronze latticework of the gates. "They can't be far ahead. Get yourself ready, Malfoy. This might be the only chance to redeem yourself."

With a vicious glare at his companion, Draco let his broom fall, put down his pack, and stowed away his map. "I told you it wasn't my fault! That sickening hag ruined everything."

"I doubt they see it that way."

Malfoy began hoisting up his robes.

"Want me to wait outside?" smirked Farley. Her close-cropped hair only flickered briefly as she attempted to cast what Ron thought might be a cooling charm upon herself – without much success.

"What do I care?" came Draco's muffled voice as he pulled the robe over his head. "Whew!" He blew out air and fanned his face with one hand. "That's better actually. They never said how warm it would be." He gave Farley a funny look as he sat down on his pack and wriggled out of his trousers. "You'll be sweltering before I get out. Perhaps you ought to–"

"–You wish!"

"Erm... no, I don't actually." Quite unconsciously he stripped off his underpants and turned his backside to Farley as he bent over to stuff everything into his pack and retrieve something else. Ron couldn't help wondering if he'd meant to insult the girl or simply didn't care about being naked in front of her. Or perhaps he was trying to hide something? Ron was too far away to see through the gaps in his thorny covering.

Whatever it was, Draco wasn't concealing it any longer. Again he sat down on his pack and began to struggle into what looked to Ron like elasticated fisherman's leggings, for Draco pulled the top almost up to his chest. Ron had seen his brother Charlie wear something similar but more baggy to wade while casting for trout in the river Otter near home. Charlie's waders had been of brown rubber and needed shoulder straps to hold them up, whereas Draco's were so snug fitting, no other support was needed.

"Did they tell you to keep them inside out?" scoffed Farley. "What are they for, anyway?"

"Don't know exactly. They never tell us anything, do they? Must be charmed. They warned me anyone going in there couldn't survive without protective covering."

Ron stiffened for flight, his mouth open in a gape.

Farley said, "Sheesh! And you trust them? Why?"

Draco stood up, flagrantly adjusting the bulge at his crotch. "I know what they want."

Farley cringed at the sight. "What? And did you really need to do that?"

"None of your business – you shouldn't ask. And dunno about drogs like you, but real men have to–"

"–I'm not a... what you said!" shouted Farley, then added limply, "I do... like boys, it's just that–"

Malfoy, who had walked to the gate, laughed. "–it's just that you don't like them pushing you around, right? Farley, I really don't care what you are so long as you're not a Mudblood like that fucking bitch Granger. Once she's out of the way... Merlin's Curse! Are you crying?"

"Course not!"

Farley shielded her eyes with her hands, pretending she was getting a better view through the dense thorn wall, but she wasn't fooling Draco one bit. "Little Gemmy's cwying..."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" The bigger girl turned on Draco and she was suddenly all claws and teeth, and thrusting the biggest wand Ron had ever seen at Draco. "How about I rip out your loathsome tongue!"

Malfoy backed off, wide-eyed with fear and palms held up in defensive surrender. His voice was hoarse when he choked out anything he could, true or false. "They'll kill you – worse than kill you if I don't succeed!" He gathered courage as he gained a few backward steps of distance. "Frilly pink frocks and pigtails and a gang of bullies with prods – your worst nightmare! They know all your weaknesses! Snakes! Pits of worms! They'd do it!"

Farley had dropped her wand and was hugging herself and shaking. "I h-hate you!"

Her wand was in Malfoy's hand now and rage creased his features. "Don't ever threaten me again, you little baby! I'm far better connected than you, and don't you forget it!"

His eyes suddenly focused on the length of the wand. "Rather overcompensating, aren't you?" He spat at her feet and threw the wand across the clearing. "You're pathetic, you know that? A pathetic little girly girl. The most babyish baby dolly ever. Even Granger's got more balls than you, and she's just filth with buck teeth and a lisp. Her thick head might have been made into a kitchen mop one day though – if she'd lived."

He stared back at the gates then walked over to look through the gaps in the wrought bronze. "What a horrible, sickening death..." he muttered. "Better make your mind up, Farley. Do as you're told or face the frilly-willies. What's it to be?"

When he turned around, she seemed shrunken, and he knew he'd won. "Get over here. You do remember what you have to do, don't you? Or were the instructions too complicated for your little baby brain?"

She shook her head submissively as she shuffled forward.

"Well? Repeat your orders!"

Rolling her eyes, Farley said, "I have to open the gates." She pushed and they began to swing away.

"That's not what I meant, and you–" Draco stared through the opening gap at the dark, slithering mud. His shudder was visible even to Ron. Draco ran back to his pack and returned with his own wand and the map, which he studied for half a minute before attempting to push the wand forward between the gateposts. When he found he couldn't, he nodded to himself then stepped back a couple of paces. "Point me." When the wand only twitched he tried again more forcefully. "POINT ME!" The wand swung like a dowsing rod.

Satisfied, he thrust map and wand at Farley then glared a warning at her before trotting off through the gates. He hesitated only once, at the boundary to where the blue mud had been pushed back, then he was gone.

Immediately Ron rushed out from his hidey-hole, left hand balled into an angry fist, right gripping his wand. But his weakened stupefying charm was scarcely needed: Farley had curled up on the floor clutching and sobbing into her pack. The emotional girl sagged limply, as though she'd fallen asleep instead of being stunned, and Ron seized the moment.

Rapidly removing his clothing, he thrust everything into Hermione's bag, and buried it behind his thorn camouflage. He took off after Malfoy like a bat out of hell intent on keeping the Slytherin's footprints in sight during the chase, but he could see they were already fading fast as the sloppy mud oozed back to claim its former smoothness.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _'drog' is my invented slang word (to avoid modern slang) derived from androgyne to imply ambiguous sexual orientation. In fact, I'm trying to convey that Farley is actually feminine and for whatever reason is embarrassed by it, so cropped her hair and acts tough and boyish when really she's not (similar to how boys hide their emotions.) For what it's worth, my take on the Potterverse is that there's little or no racism, sexism, or homophobia because physicality is far less important where magic is power whatever the skin colour (blood equates to superior magical power in the bigoted minds of pure-bloods.) I think that's the whole point of what JKR is trying to convey – all such prejudice is absurd seen in a different context._

 _Part of my inspiration for the Gates themselves may have been (I think) unconsciously drawn from Jerry Sohl's sci-fi novel: Costigan's Needle which I enjoyed as a youngster, and in which a needle-shaped portal was created but only living things could pass through. Or maybe I made the connection afterwards, I don't know._

 _In a Chapter 56 review, Mad Elf asked if I was deliberately writing Hermione as a massive prude and man-hater (presumably this was in reference to the Rodney Dunn scene.) Not at all. I've previously shown Dunn as preying on young girls (using love potions – see Chapter 30) and Imogene seemed particularly vulnerable, having only three years experience of life and very little knowledge of the real world. Hermione felt responsible for her welfare as well as Dunn's possible future victims. Perhaps I didn't make Dunn's intentions clear enough. No, wait, perhaps you mean Hermione's reaction to Imogene's nakedness in the preceding chapter? That was mostly shock, I think. Same I think in Chapter 57 at the Zabini's – it's the context._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	60. 2:A Place To Die

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school. Neville and Luna have gone missing in search of a mysterious gate into a dome of thorns in the Forest, and the others followed to rescue them. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 60**

 **A Place To Die**

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The Wrong Side

As far as they could tell in this non-magical space without sky or any other reference, Hermione, Ginny, and Olive were still heading east through the thorny dome without even the protection of clothing. In the unnatural heat they might have been primordial natives hunting for food, except they carried neither knife nor spear, and the quarry was human. This was a rescue mission with the deliverance of Luna and Neville as their aim.

Over thirty minutes had elapsed by Hermione's reckoning before they discerned anything other than the gloomy depressions and sloping mounds of the dark clay lit only by the flat, ambient blue glow. No variation of radiance, not even shadows, had relieved the landscape thus far.

"What _is_ that ahead?" said Ginny.

"Sunlight through the haze from above, see? I think it is, anyway," pointed Hermione. "Perhaps Luna was right and there's a gap in the dome above. Anything's better than just that thorny roof up there. And as for this awful slithery clay..."

The thick blue mud had, of course, quickly caked around their bare feet and ankles, but by now it had also splashed high up their legs.

"What is this stuff anyway?" said Olive for the umpteenth time, scooping up handfuls as if to discern its nature. Each time she saw the others shrug and look away, she smeared it off on herself, dragging her forearms 'accidentally' over parts of her body. "Ugh!" she muttered in exaggerated disgust, and whenever she feigned a struggle in wiping it off, her pretence was actually spreading it more thickly.

But Hermione and Ginny were not deceived at all. By now, Olive had blue gunk daubed in thick patches up her front, and once she slipped down onto her bottom – deliberately, Hermione was sure. And then she realised why Olive was so particularly shy even with them: the girl must have remembered that ultimately they'd have to return to Ron.

"But it's no lighter," said Ginny.

Hermione looked ahead to where Ginny was pointing. More detail could now be discerned in the opening above, though sunlight had to struggle through a tangle of thorny vines which seemed almost to be straining to draw the aperture shut. The gap in the dome roof was only clear for about twenty feet or so in the centre. That would be enough for a couple of broomstick riders to enter comfortably, but the sun, though now high in the sky, did not appear to reach the dark, hazy ground below it.

Ginny said, "Why _is_ it so dull there?"

A shake of the head was Hermione's only reply.

It was many more minutes before they could discern a sombre pool ahead of them, directly below the opening in the dome above. Black rocks scarred the water's perimeter, glassy as ice, but the steamy haze suggested the small lake was as warm as everywhere else within the dome. Once again, Hermione found herself wiping her brow with the parchment she'd had to carry for lack of a pocket.

"UP THERE!" yelled Ginny, breaking into a run.

Hermione and Olive chased after her. They too could see fragmented spiky clumps hanging suspended twenty feet above the pool – though Hermione suspected Ginny's sharp young eyes perceived more than she herself could.

Ginny was wailing when they caught her up. "It's their broomsticks, I just know it!"

"Ginny..." Hermione wasn't so sure. Distracted by a tiny sound of alarm from Aculus, she tried to focus on what Ginny had said. But the draught of the raven's wings as the bird took flight concerned her even more. Had Aculus forsaken her? He'd certainly been unhappy about visiting this strange place. Only Ron, Harry, and her mother knew she had a familiar, so she was reluctant to shout after him.

"And scraps of their robes!" added Ginny, wringing her hands in despair then lowering her gaze to stare at the dark forbidding waters below. A sharp pinnacle of the black rock marked the centre like a clawed finger pointing accusingly upward.

"They fell on it," groaned Ginny, stepping forward to the water's edge. "They must have flown down to where the magic in their broomsticks failed..."

In the strange contrast of light, Hermione had to squint to examine the thrust of rock in the middle of the flood. Was Aculus perched there even now gazing down into the strange little lake? Perhaps the water was clear and only the rocky basin made the pool seem black. But, though trying hard, she could not sense her familiar's presence.

"Ginny, they could just as easily have fallen in and swam ashore." Hermione began pacing around the pool's edge, hoping to find footprints.

"You won't find any," Olive said solemnly.

Hermione searched her face for an explanation.

Olive said, "We've not been leaving any tracks ourselves – not for long, anyway." She pointed back the way they'd come.

Ginny understood first, and gasped. Their last ten or twenty footprints were already fading as the blue mud oozed into the impressions. But Hermione was staring at Ginny's legs. The dark clay which had spattered her legs lower down was now higher than ever, almost above her knees – but that was not what concerned her. The slime was not splashed in patches but evenly distributed and smooth, with a regular, though lopsided, boundary at the top which gave the impression of a pair of shiny stockings, dark blue against her white legs.

Slowly, Hermione's gaze descended to her own body: the sludge appeared to have paused below her knees. _'Paused?'_ She shook her head to clear it; for a few moments she'd hosted a ridiculous notion there was something intentional in the natural oozing and spread of the filthy stuff. And then she turned to look properly at Olive for the first time in a while. Olive appeared to be clothed in a dark, ragged cat suit almost up to her armpits. At least her back, sides, and arms were still bare, Hermione was relieved to note.

Could they bathe in the pool? Would Olive be willing? Which might be more dangerous: the blue slime or the strange, brooding lake?

She took a sudden breath as a new idea occurred to her. Had one of the runes on her sketch of the gates been similar to aqua, the water rune? Were they a warning? Carefully she unfolded the parchment. Her rough markings were now very grubby and smeared.

"Just wash it," said Olive, looking over her shoulder.

Reluctant, Hermione bit her lip. Dare she touch the water?

"Here, can you hold it out with these?" Olive held out a couple of shards of the glassy rock she'd picked up.

As Hermione took them from her, Olive paused. "Hear that? I imagined I heard someone or... something."

There was no admission from Hermione, but she'd sensed it too. Hurriedly she draped her coarse parchment across the fragments, clumsily pinching them together as crude chopsticks, then crouched down to agitate the skin in the water. Back and forth she jiggled the paper-thin hide before finally lifting it out and, hung like a wet flag, Hermione held it up to the light which shone right through it from above.

Disappointment. The rune she'd thought might be similar to aqua had too many variations to be sensibly related. Hermione lowered the skin and stared at the frustration in her own reflection. At this angle, the dark surface of the pool made a good mirror, and she could clearly see Ginny's agitated pacing and Olive's relatively calm expression. The girl was an enigma: disablingly anxious when naked, stalwart and reliable now she was sufficiently clothed in mud.

Hermione sighed and stood up. Stopped. Crouched down again. In her imagination had flashed words quite foreign which, though strangely familiar eluded her comprehension for the moment, and she held up the skin one more time, turning it around to scrutinise its reflected image in the pool. Curiously, it was the same as was showing through the thin skin from the back. Abruptly, the significance of the message hit her. Hard.

"RUN!" she screamed, dropping the skin then grabbing at Ginny and missing. "THIS WAY! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"

She didn't wait. Hermione had to trust they were sprinting after her as she sped south. Every minute might count.

"What ... 'bout ... Luna!" Ginny squealed breathlessly, and Hermione was glad to hear she was panting not far behind.

"They wouldn't go ... far side ... and ... we didn't pass them ... coming in!"

"What if she ... went north!"

"We'd have heard them ... when we ... outside!" There was no conviction in Hermione's breathy shout. "We'll circle round ... gate ... fetch help."

"Why? ... What's happened!"

Hermione slowed to a jog to gasp out, "Think Luna ... know ... gates are ... south or west ... she'd ... want see much as ... could ... on ... way."

Olive cried, "But what ... you see, Hermione? ... In the pool? ... Why we running?"

"Uncommon ... runic forms..." panted Hermione. "Like used in ... ancient Rome. ..." She braked to a walk then stopped abruptly to lean over to catch her breath, waving one hand vigorously to tell them to hang on a minute before answering further.

"What do they say, Hermione?" gasped Olive as she and Ginny caught her up.

" _Portas Vitae_ " panted Hermione. "The Gates of Life."

Ginny's chest was heaving to draw in enough air to speak. "But... that's good ... isn't it?" She looked at Olive for agreement.

"You don't understand ..." Hermione was taking deep, controlled breaths now. "I was looking at ... its reflection in the pool."

"So?" said Ginny.

"The runes are worked into the bronze lattice of the gates, but I copied them from the front. What I wrote down were the runes in reverse."

Olive let out a moan. "It says 'The Gates of Life' from _THIS_ side? The Gates lead to the higher, purer life on the _outside_ of this dome?"

Hermione nodded and stood up. " _We_ are the exalted life: the human race."

She began to walk again, increasing her pace to a brisk stride.

Olive helped Ginny along, struggling to keep up. "So in here, that means... what _does_ that mean?" Olive felt her dream of paradise was fading fast.

"I'm still ... working on that," puffed Hermione, "but remember what Madam Pince told us, Olive?"

Apart from their laboured breathing, there was silence for the next minute as Olive tried to refresh her memory, then she replied, "Magic's first effort ... creating life ... must be ... primitive and corrupt."

"Exactly," said Hermione, increasing her pace once more, "and that can mean only one thing: ancient dark creatures beyond anything we can comprehend."

"But you didn't believe in the story!"

"I'm ready to believe in almost anything right now – Titans, Abominable Snowmen, even titanic blue snowbabies!"

Ginny glanced around fearfully. "What if they're lurking under the mud? Waiting to grab our ankles and pull us under? How deep is it? What if Luna's been...? Oh, Merlin!"

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A Trying Time

As they progressed, hope dwindled. The landscape was featureless and the gloom affected their spirits more and more. Few of the tiny slits and fissures in the thorny roof were large enough to provide enough sunlight as a frame of reference or a clue they might still be heading south. Puddles and tiny pools typically resided below these openings where rainwater had accumulated, but they were still reluctant to drink, despite being dry and exhausted by their march. Jogging had long since been abandoned and even walking was an effort.

"Remember, we mustn't sit down!" said Hermione, as she saw Ginny waver in her stride.

"No – there's something there..." said Ginny, slowing almost to a halt and staring ahead, anxiety clouding her features.

Hermione saw it then too: a small dark figure in the distance, unmoving, silent, but looking their way.

"Merlin... it's Luna! See?" Ginny began moving forward again and the other two hurried along with her. "What's wrong with her?"

Hermione had anticipated this and grabbed at Ginny's shoulder, slowing her down. "Ginny, she's been here longer. She's... covered in the mud."

"We've got to help her!" cried Ginny.

Olive tried to suppress a scream.

Swinging around, Hermione saw the girl turning her back on another figure racing towards Luna from the right. It was Ron, but there was a wild, maniacal look in his eyes and in his hand he waved what looked like a club. Naked save for blue legs, he began howling feverishly and incoherently.

"That's not...? Is that really him?" said Ginny, whose senses were keen and who knew her own brother's behaviour better than anyone at this young age. She'd never seen him act in such an evil, menacing way before; he appeared deranged.

"Luna! He's going to hurt Luna!"

She ran on towards the converging forms.

Realising the danger no doubt, Luna had turned away from Ron and was stumbling towards the girls. Hermione suffered a sudden painful stitch in her side and couldn't keep up with Ginny. Olive remained behind her, fearful of Ron's attention while she only wore a skintight mud coating. Gasping, Hermione struggled on, clutching her waist. She stopped in astonishment, and so did Ginny, for Ron had reached Luna.

With a vicious cry, Ron's dashed his weapon across Luna's arm, cleaving it off at the elbow, but his fury did not stop there. Ugly blows rained down on the young girl until finally one mighty stroke took off Luna's head. Dark gore sprayed up from the neck and her headless body crawled, squirmed, writhed, struggled to escape for several seconds before collapsing utterly in front of Ron. Dropping to his knees, he continued to pound the torso, wildly screaming words that made no sense.

Hermione recovered first. Pushing past Ginny, she limped on, still clutching the side of her stomach, striving to see if her suspicions were fanciful or true.

"Ron...?"

He'd stopped by now, a dull expression on his face when he looked up on hearing Hermione's voice. "Just mud ... all mud ..." he muttered.

"Luna?" Hermione's face contorted in horror as she neared Ron and the mess in which he'd so violently wallowed.

"She was turned to mud?" Hermione put a hand over her mouth as if to stifle the awful words that had already escaped her lips. Behind her, she heard Ginny and Olive crying.

Ron's eyes focused now; sanity returned. "Not Luna. It copied their shapes. Luna said the mud is..."

"The mud's alive?" shrieked Olive, rubbing her stomach furiously in a vain attempt to remove some of the thickest layers of the slimy stuff.

"Not..." Ron struggled to express himself. "She said it was trying to be alive."

"Trying..." murmured Hermione.

"So Luna's...?" whimpered Ginny. "Is she...?"

"They were searching for the gates, Neville and her. I pointed the way best I could."

Olive said, "And were they... you know... smothered in this stuff?"

Ron suddenly seemed to recognise Olive for the first time. He stared at her body and she shrank back, blushing furiously. Quickly he recovered. "Not as badly as you, Olive! What happened? Did you fall over?"

Indeed, by now, the dark blue gloop had embraced Olive like a second skin almost up to her throat.

Hermione butted in quickly to spare her further embarrassment. "But Luna and Neville have been here hours longer than us!"

"He told me they fell off their broomsticks into the big pool. They were soaking wet. Luna said it kept the mud off them for a while. They drank and washed in clear puddles on the way but–"

"They drank that stuff!" cried Hermione.

"Luna says it's fine. It's very pure water according to her. But gradually the mud built up on them and held them back from the water. It doesn't like it – same as it avoids the gates. I thought of going back to the big pool to get more..." His gaze dropped to view the additional blue sludge that had smothered his front during the attack on the mud-creature. "...if I still can."

Ginny said, "Doesn't like it? The _mud_ doesn't like... how can mud...?"

"I told you, it's trying to be alive. Luna can explain it better. If it can take shape then it tries to swamp over you, swallow you up. We had to run. Then I remembered..."

Ginny glanced at Olive who was still hugging herself self-consciously and looking anywhere but at Ron.

"Thanks for saving us, Ron," cut in Hermione, hoping the other girls would understand the heroic risk he'd taken for them. "We'd have tried to... help Luna – I mean that mud-thing."

She paused to stare down at the dark-blue slime before adding, "I think it must be pre-life. It's believed that protocells can't multiply but are repeatedly spawned directly from the environment, feed on their siblings for a few hours, then die. They're not able to form complex shapes on their own because they can't reproduce, evolve, and advance. I never heard of them copying real life though – probably because there wasn't any about when the world was new."

"Erm... yeah, Luna said something like that too," said Ron. "Subterraneous something or other."

"Spontaneous. It's called spontaneous generation – the precursor to life. And we need to hurry."

As they set off, Ron said, "There's something else, Hermione."

"What, Ron?" Hermione felt her side and was relieved to discover the painful stitch had faded quite a lot.

He looked rather sheepish. "You were right about not trusting Draco. The git must have followed us here with that Farley girl or something. He told her... well, he knew how dangerous this place was because he wore protective leggings and said you'd all die. That's why I–"

"–He came in?" cried Hermione. "He's still in here now?"

Ron shrugged, and loose slime oozed down his left shoulder. "Dunno. I followed him to the big pool. He went around the sides looking for a decent chunk of rock to protect himself – that's how I got the idea." He held up the rough club he still carried which they all could now see was a length of the dark stone. "Then I lost sight of him in the steam across the water."

"You think he expected trouble?"

"Dunno."

"But you make it sound like he already knew about this place."

"Yeah."

"Not like Draco to risk his own neck."

"I told you he wore enchanted waders nearly up to his chest."

"Impossible, Ron. Magic doesn't work in here."

Ron sighed. "Hermione..." He glanced sideways at Olive then lapsed into resignation. There was no use arguing with Hermione when she was convinced she was in the right. _Trouble is,_ he thought, _she mostly is._ "Thank, Merlin."

"What did you say, Ron?"

"Nothing."

.

Chemistry

For fifteen minutes the youngsters marched until a dulling in the blue haze ahead suggested they were again approaching the thorny barrier that encircled the vast enclosure. Trusting that they were still south of the gates, they veered right in a curve to intersect the wall further north while always keeping it in sight.

Their march had become a trudge soon after, as the pace had fluctuated and slowed to help Ginny keep up. Ron hefted his club and kept anxiously twisting his gaze about.

Hermione noticed this. "You think that mud-thing could reform?"

He gave her a puzzled look. "No, but Neville and Luna told me that mud bulged up nearby not long before I arrived, small and badly misshaped. You know Luna, she thought they were quite cute at first."

"They?" cried Ginny.

"Well, yeah. There's a Neville one as well."

"What!" Olive swerved left and right, staring into the distance. "There's still another one out there?"

Hermione said, "So the mud needs to form its shape near to what it's copying?"

"And it takes time, don't forget. They've been here longer than us."

"So... it'd copy us all if we stay in here much–?" Ginny broke off and pointed ahead. "There they are!"

Sure enough, the vast Gates of Life could not be mistaken as their vertical lines loomed through the haze. There was also a faint impression of two figures running away from them in the direction of the dome's centre.

"Is that them?" said Ron. "I told them to get out and not wait for us."

"Something's happened," wailed Ginny. "LUNA! LUNA!" she shrieked, waving madly as she found renewed energy to rush to intercept the pair.

"Ginny, no!" shouted Hermione. "Ron, can we be sure it's them?"

"Luna said the mud could add and subtract but never learned to multiply."

"That's crazy. non-sensible reasoning!" cried Hermione as they stampeded after Ginny.

"But she has a clever mind behind her funny notions ... you know that!" puffed Ron, tired for once of Hermione's fixed, bookish ideas. "I think she meant ... bits of slime couldn't survive long once ... made a copy of themselves. ... So ... means ... they added one but ... eventually ... themselves ended – broke up, so can't make many ... never multiply"

Olive's scream stopped their argument before it progressed any further. "There!"

Beyond the running figures, beside the hazy far edge of the gates, a tall, indistinct shadow moved. Slow and ponderous, not even the immense gates could truly dwarf it. The ground shook a moment later.

"It's Thuros," squealed Olive, clutching at Ron's arm.

Ron tried to calm her but his panting breaths did not help. "Olive ... just ... shadow as ... sun moves 'cross ... sky."

" _The Titan?"_ Hermione had not enough air in her lungs for her companions to hear, and the stitch in her side was returning. " _The gatekeeper of the gods?"_ She shook her head. _Oh, come on, Hermione! Stay focused! It was a myth! A fable. Yes. Ron's right: just a shadow._

"Yet sh-shaking ... ground?" cried Olive from ahead.

Ginny looked even more frightened now. "You mean something really big?"

Hermione stared at Olive's back which, with her upper arms and head, were now the only parts of her body still clear of the mud. Olive's remark was, Hermione considered, perhaps the third time the girl had seemed almost to sense Hermione's thoughts. _And that voice we both heard at the pool..._

As the friends converged, Hermione was relieved to see that both Neville and Luna were not so badly covered in mud as she'd feared – scarcely up to their waists – though Luna had plenty on her hands and forearms. "We found the gates!" she cried, and continued in one big gush, "A girl had opened them for Draco but they'd closed before we reached them and the mud held us back and we heard them laughing at us through the gate and then the other Neville chased us away and I wished we'd never come here at all!"

"Tried to swamp us, you mean," said Neville. "That's how it eats, by slopping over you and absorbing. The mud's probably trying to eat us now but each premonad on its own can't work out how. Luna thinks – what did you say, Princess? They can't coordinate till they form a shape?"

"I'll take care of it," growled Ron with a vigorous wave of his club.

Neville's eyes widened. "What! How? With that? You can't!"

"Premonad?" said Hermione, looking to Luna. "What's that?"

But Luna was studying each one of them in the gathering more closely now – especially Ron – and her face became filled with concern. "You're all... so muddy. I hoped you'd be fresh – like Ron... was. How are we to open the gates now? Is the Headmaster coming to open them for us?"

"We can expect no help from anyone outside," spat Ginny. "They're only searching the edge of the Forest on the castle side. Probably be ages before they look further inside."

Ron said, "Weeks before they find this place."

"Weeks!" cried Luna. "We can't survive more than a few hours!"

"Why not?" said Olive, but she feared the worst.

Luna stared at Olive whose throat was now half-covered in the dark blue sludge. Luna said, "They're spreading over our bodies. What do you think will happen when the premonads cover our faces?"

"What do you mean by premonads?" Hermione asked again. "And Neville, you said they can't coordinate till they form a shape. Is that like ant-colony, group intelligence?"

Luna answered for him. "Yes, but not conscious, not thinking intelligence – just a deaf, dumb, and blind chemical process. 'Premonad' is a name I made up. Do Muggles know creatures are bunches of tiny living monads? – no, course not. How could they? That's where our magic comes from – you remember, Ginny? In one of our Origins of Magic classes?" – at this point Ginny didn't give the impression she remembered that particular Beauxbatons class quite as clearly as her friend, but Luna continued, "Premonads are magical too, but simpler and not really alive yet."

"Yet?" yelped Ginny.

"They'd want to be – if they knew how. If they could want, I mean."

"Then what are we standing about talking for!" roared Ron. "Let's get out of here! Come on!" He trudged off in the direction of the gates, hoping the others would follow, but only Olive did so, still holding onto Ron's arm. She seemed to be in some distress.

"Where's he...?" said Neville. "What's he doing?"

"Ron!" cried Ginny. "The giant!"

"Just a shadow!" Ron called back.

Neville exchanged worried looks with Luna, but it was Hermione who shouted, "Ron, there are no shadows in here, remember?"

It was true. As they looked around, the illumination seemed to come from the haze and the mud itself – from all directions. Like an overcast day that was undercast too. And when Hermione peered into the mist beyond Ron, she could no longer see the dark shape they'd thought was a shadow. She turned to gaze at the faint light that marked the distant opening in the roof above the pool. "What if we–?"

"–Subterraneous generation," said Luna.

"Spontaneous, you mean," sighed Hermione. "What do we do? Can we wash in the pool?"

Luna shook her head. "No, subterraneous. I think the premonads generate deep within the mud then rise up. The mud _is_ the premonads, you see? Zillions of them. They don't last long before their chemicals break down." Her gaze turned back towards the gates. "They can sink below again too though, which prolongs them. But the bedrock drives them up again. Anything not living, you see, like the ground or water, repels their chemistry. That's why this mud is so slippery. It's not actually wet, it's... slithery."

Neville answered Hermione. "You and Ginny might still be able to get in the pool – if we hurry."

"But what about Ron?" wailed Ginny. Her brother's figure was more distant now. "Will he come back when he's destroyed it?"

Shock was evident in Neville's expression. "Destroy it? It's huge!"

Hermione cried, "You mean that thing near the gate was the shape copied from you? It's grown bigger?"

Frowning his puzzlement, Neville said, "I thought everyone understood? I thought Ron knew. The mud bulges up to form a small copy at first but it continues to expand. He saw them reach life size. Did he think they'd stop there? It's far too late to have any hope of destroying it now! It's as big as a house!"

"Then we have to stop him!" cried Hermione, sprinting off after Ron.

"Hermione, it's not clever," Luna called.

Hermione heard her continue to shout but as Luna's cries faded behind her, she knew none of them were following. _It might not be smart to die while trying to save a friend, but..._ Hermione felt the stitch in her side plaguing her again and slowed to an erratic, painful jog, and wondering if Luna had meant something else; she so often did.

After only a few minutes, the hurting in her gut was too much and she came to a halt, aching to curl up on the ground but not daring too. The gates were much more visible now and...

She stared into the mists. Was that Ron and Olive? Dashing frantically in her direction? Their screams reached her first, but dampened by the terrain. The ground underfoot shook a moment later. "RUN!" Ron was shouting at Hermione. Behind them, a dark shape was rising up.

Hermione needed no further incentive. She turned and began staggering back the way she'd come, gasping and wincing and clutching her stomach. As she did so, her hand felt mud for the first time. The dark slime had oozed above her hip on that side. "Ugh!" Almost tumbling over in her erratic flight to safety, she managed to rub off most of the mess from her hand onto her bottom which had, until then remained clear.

Olive and Ron were now close enough to hear her hoarse, rasping breaths. He shouted, "Keep ... going ... H'mione! ... monster ... after us!"

Hermione tottered to a shuffle, crouching over, overcome by pain, and looked back. The colossal shape beyond Ron and Olive was slumping down, and the ground gave one last heavy shudder... then only diminishing trembles could be felt. Olive saw her expression and turned to see. "It's submerging again!"

"Yes, they're subterraneous."

Hermione whirled around at the voice. It was Luna with Neville and Ginny coming to meet them halfway. The blonde girl was looking worriedly at the additional mud now covering Hermione. "You might still be able to get in the pool." Luna sounded sceptical, and one glance also dismissed Ginny, for she was shorter than Hermione and the mud was now over her hips.

They headed for the central pool in silence for a while, Hermione's guilt hanging in the air, and the weight of mud dragging on her lower half now perceptible. _If only I'd paid attention to Luna! Now we might all die._

Clearly time was becoming very critical as they moved along. Although the painful stitch in Hermione's side was gradually fading away, they were all very dry and rather exhausted, so the journey was taking much longer than before.

Ginny was the first to break the awkward lack of conversation as she pointed ahead, "I see daylight."

They all could discern it soon after. Illumination was now flowing in at an angle as the sun had descended through the late afternoon.

"Anyone care to guess the time?" said Ron, mournfully.

Neville shrugged. "I think they might be sitting down in the Great Hall for the evening meal about now."

Ron said, "Yeah, that's what my stomach is telling me."

Olive groaned. "Dumbledore's probably announcing the loss of four more students..."

Ginny wrung her hands and wailed, "We'll be expelled! Everyone of us."

"If we're lucky," Hermione muttered, but the others heard her and knew exactly what she meant.

"I'll say it's all my fault," said Luna, then added mournfully, "It _is_ my fault, isn't it?" Nobody answered and her voice lowered to a sad sniffle, "I only ... wanted ... see the abominable babies..."

Neville checked his arm was still clear of mud before putting it around Luna's shoulder to comfort her as they walked along. "Me too," he said. "My fault too. We didn't think we'd be risking anyone else."

.

The Last Stand

As the youngsters approached the curious little lake in the middle of the thorn dome, Hermione increasingly felt the drag of the mud on her legs. She glanced around. Ginny and the others were right behind her, with Ron and Olive at the rear. Clearly, all were feeling the slimy material's reluctance to be taken to water.

"Watch out!" cried Ron, "Something's coming up out of the mud!" He stared as the blue sludge roiled away and what looked like a filthy, distorted hand pushed up through the surface, its webbed fingers twisting and undulating.

Ginny screamed and began hopping and jumping about, trying to keep her bare feet off the ground, and eyes darting between the disgusting thing that had emerged and her own ankles. "I told you! It'll pull us all under!"

"No, wait..." said Neville. "They're... they look like folds in... the premonads are rejecting, agitating... I think it's just a creased up old rag being quivered about by the mud."

"Why, that's..." Hermione stared. "That's the grouse skin I copied the runes onto!"

That stopped Ginny dancing, but she glared at the ruffled up, lifeless scrap as if it were somehow responsible for scaring her.

"So it did finally die?" said Ron. "Neville's right; the mud's seething around it, repelling away, see? I suppose even skin can't live for more than a few hours or so on its own."

Hermione snatched it up triumphantly. "I'll wade in first to wash myself off, then I can help the rest of you," she called over her shoulder.

But as Hermione tried to approach the pool, the mud underfoot and on her body felt like soft wet snakes, squirming, squeezing, resisting her efforts. Finally, she could drag her feet not one step further. Her mouth felt even drier now as she surveyed the water only a few paces ahead of her. She reached out, swaying back and forth, as if preparing to throw herself forward and stretch out, but quickly realised her fingertips would still be an arm's length away, perhaps more.

"Ron! You're taller than me!"

By this time, Ron was heavily covered in the gloop. He struggled to reach Hermione and gave up a step behind her. Ginny did better but she was too short, and the mud on Luna and Neville's bodies was up to their chests. Hermione didn't even look at Olive.

"What to do?" she wailed to herself, knowing the others would be relying on her to come up with an answer. "What to do?" she muttered again. Without magic, she felt utterly helpless.

"Neville," said Ron, "how shallow is the pool?"

"It's not," said Neville gloomily. "We had to swim and the banks are quite steep. We struggled to wade up them after we fell in." His cheeks flushed at the memory even though fear had long since obscured any awkwardness about his current nakedness.

Ron looked to his sister. "Ginny, remember when Fred and George used to toss you into the duckpond?"

She half-turned and gave him a tired grin of sympathy at the recollection. "No, I dived. They legged me up and I sprang into a plung–" She sucked in a quick breath on the last word.. "Merlin, you're not thinking..."

Ron was muttering to himself as he visualised a strategy. "Just like chess positions... trying to get a pawn forward past the opponent's defences. ... Yes, that should do it..."

He straightened up abruptly and called out, "Neville, push Luna over – towards me, I mean. I'll catch her arms."

"What!"

"I've got to wriggle her around me so she can lie down beside Hermione."

"Are you mad, Ronald?" cried Hermione, half-guessing his plan. "We'll smother!"

But Luna was already in front of Neville and coaxing him to do as Ron said. Ron was holding out his arms encouragingly.

Neville sighed and heaved against Luna's back. She stumbled forward and Ron grabbed her wrists. Her knees were dragged through the mud as he pulled her gracelessly to him. Hermione helped him lift her around beside her. Neville, being taller, had managed to push forward another step and a half and leaned forward for Ron to get hold of him.

"Right, Hermione and Luna, fall forward as far you can go."

"Ron, you'll only make things worse!" cried Hermione.

"Hermione, do it! There's no time to argue with you!"

SPLAT! Luna had already lunged forward and was stretched out towards the pool. Reluctantly, Hermione joined her.

"Quickly Neville, grip wrists with me."

Neville did so and they crabbed sideways over the prone bodies of their friends. Luna squealed in pain.

"Ow! You're hurting us!" cried Hermione as she felt Ron's feet on her back.

"Quickly, Gin!"

Hermione and Luna howled when the additional weight of Ginny stepped over their thighs and up into the stirrup formed by Neville's and Ron's hands. They screamed as the boys crouched slightly then rose up to hurl Ginny into the air. She leapt.

There was an awful splash and Ginny disappeared momentarily. She was spluttering and her cries mingled with those of Luna and Hermione when she surfaced again. Ron and Neville had stepped off the girls and were trying to help them up while at the same time, Ron was trying to see what was wrong with his sister.

"Ginny! Ginny!"

"I bust my leg!" she squealed, coughing and choking. She floundered for a while then appeared to be holding onto something too far under the water for her to breathe properly, nor could she stand on it. "I hit ... spike of rock." Water sprayed as she struggled about.

"Luna's hurt too!" shouted Hermione. "Her chest..."

As Hermione, with Ron's help, made an effort to sit up, clutching her own side, the ground began to shake and rumble once more. Ginny screamed and spluttered as she slipped and went under again. Ron's despairing face switched first to his sister's plight then westward where something dull and dark and very, very large, was approaching, towering higher than ever.

"The Neville-monster!" he bellowed.

He heard Ginny surface and scream his name, but his head whipped round, searching for the one he'd almost forgotten about for the last hectic minute. "Olive! Olive!" He stopped shouting to gape in horror. His voice was weak and dull when he next murmured her name. "Olive..." She was collapsed on the ground, writhing. Mud was slithering over her head and she was frantically trying to rub it away from her mouth and nostrils with an equally muddy hand.

Ginny squeaked and spluttered again, more weakly this time, "Help me, Ron!"

Hermione cried, "Go to Olive, Ron! You can't help Ginny."

"Ginny..." he wailed miserably over his shoulder as, torn two ways, he staggered over to Olive.

But Ginny's struggles had discovered that the jut of rock she clung to was part of a short wedge just below the surface onto which she crawled, gasping against the pain in her leg.

Ron was sobbing, down on his elbows and knees trying to clear Olive's airways without much success. The mud oozed forward over his neck and jaw, slowly throttling him...

"Ginny!" shouted Hermione, feeling the ground shake and shudder increasingly below her, attempted to stand up. "Catch this!"

As Ginny looked her way, Hermione had screwed up and threw the messy runic skin. Her throw missed but the frantic young girl managed to scrabble towards the floating hide and clutched at it. Hermione began to shout but no advice was needed. Sopping wet, the rag came hurtling back, hit Neville on the side of his head, and fell onto Luna's back. Instantly he grabbed it and began wiping Luna's face which was now half-covered in the smothering mud.

"Neville!" Hermione croaked, for the sight of Olive and Ron close to death was overwhelming her emotions. "Throw it to Ron."

Too late! Ron was failing fast and couldn't think straight anymore. Ignoring his own suffocation, his fingers had been working furiously to clear Olive's mouth, but she was spitting and spluttering and coughing up mud, and he himself felt darkness overtaking him. Above them all loomed something dreadful, a brutish, mindless colossus, blocking out the last of the daylight. But it was the mud he'd swallowed that would be taking his life first. As he flattened down beside Olive, he slid over onto his back, staring upwards, half-blinded by the dark blue ooze, ever reaching out in a hopeless attempt to clear Olive's breathing rather than his own, and, as ever, feeling the terrified girl clutch his wrist with the last of her strength.

Yet, even through the terrible darkness of his soul, it seemed to Ron that a vertical shaft of light had appeared – a luminous tunnel leading upwards to life and safety. He felt himself being lifted by gentle arms, for within the dazzling radiance was relief and hope: a heavenly guardian smiling serenely at him.

"No!" he managed to gasp and splutter. "Take Olive. ... I don't ... deserve to be..."

Those were his last words, for conscious sped from Ron Weasley in that moment. The final image he'd faintly glimpsed was of Olive ascending in glory to the paradise for which she'd yearned.

.

The King's Cross

Ron lay face up, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.

A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore, he had a sense of a touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too.

Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Ron became conscious that he was still naked. Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes.

He lay in a bright mist, though it was not like mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapour; rather the cloudy vapour had not yet formed into surroundings. The surface on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be.

Curious, Ron lifted a hand to feel his side, then his stomach and chest. His body felt perfect – in fact, perfectly clean, totally unscathed, hairlessly smooth, and without a mark or scratch, ache or pain. Above all, he was grateful to be released from mundane physicality – especially the awful blue mud. His fingers explored both mouth and nose and found them clear – but did one still need to breathe in this ethereal place?

A noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small, soft thumpings of something that flapped and flailed and moaned nearby. Abruptly it paused in silence – as if realising Ron was now awake – then, came its voice, a strong but sympathetic woman's voice. "You should rest. I will tend to you shortly."

It was the angel; he knew it must be. They'd assign someone to care for new arrivals of course. He frowned. But had he actually been accepted yet? Or was this place a halfway house, a kind of limbo where the fate of the unworthy would be decided? Yes, Olive would have gone on for sure, and the others too, but _his_ destiny surely hung in the balance. If only he could see properly where...

"Don't touch your eyes, Mr Weasley!" Footsteps stepped quickly to him.

Ron stiffened. "Madam Pomfrey?" Abruptly his nakedness _did_ become a matter for concern – a very great concern.

He flinched as a cool spray hit his face. Vision began to clear. The thick, translucent paste that had covered his eyes was washed away.

"That's the last of the Barm Balm," she said. "Don't know what you lot have been up to but you're so clean, I'd guess you've all been scoured by some of Professor Sprout's blasting talc." She continued shaking and punching feather pillows into a looser, fluffier shape, then prepared to lift Ron's head and prop him up.

Eyes half-closed in horror, Ron squinted around. It was one thing to be half-naked in a gloomy, life-and-death surreal haze, quite another to lie utterly exposed in bright light with all the girls around him!

White curtains! Of course, Matron would have pulled drapes round all the beds. Still, it was... affecting, to contemplate the others lying nearby in the same state that he was. "Madam Pomfrey, if all the balm is off, might I have blankets?"

"I was coming to that – now your friends are coming over to see how you are."

"What! Right now?"

Pomfrey shook out a thin cotton sheet and flung it expertly across Ron to float lightly down upon the poor boy.

"Erm... it's a bit uuh... cool in here. I'm more used to er... blankets, oh, and a quilt. Double quilt actually."

"A quilt? In this weather?" Pomfrey glanced over his profile. "Ah... well, no need to be uncomfortable, Mr Weasley. Your... reactions are perfectly normal – you can thank the Barm Balm for that."

 _AAAAGGGHHH..._ Ron cringed as he thought of Madam Pomfrey applying balm all over him to remove the effects of the mud. Nevertheless, he was grateful when she cast an additional blanket upon him before opening the curtains.

"Ron!" Hermione dashed over from a sheeted Neville who was giving him a kind of lop-sided, sympathetic grimace from his own bed.

"Are you alright, Ron?" said Hermione, as she leaned over to give him a half-hug as best she could in his semi-recumbent position. "Last night we thought you were..."

"Dead?" said Ron. "So did I. Hermione, I had the strangest dream about–"

"You couldn't have, Ron. Madam Pomfrey told me she gave you a Dreamless Sleep Potion."

Ron frowned. "I could have sworn... don't laugh, Hermione, but I had the weirdest sensation of a – no, don't laugh!"

"I wasn't, Ron, honest," said Hermione, struggling to keep a serious face. "Go on."

"Well, it was like..." He took a deep breath. "An angel came down from heaven – wings and everything – to raise me up to paradise. She was beautiful."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Wearing a halo and long white robes, I suppose?"

"No, she was wearing..." Ron's eyes widened as his fleeting impression sharpened in his mind's eye. "...nothing."

Hermione shook her head reprovingly. "Oh, Ron, you know angels aren't... you know, uumm... physical. You must have been dreaming one of your ideal fantasies."

Ron nodded glumly, but Hermione continued, "Oh, by the way, this is my friend, Imogene."

Ron's face swerved to the other side of his bed. There sat another visitor, a vision of loveliness in pale saffron robes that seemed to float about the woman, perfectly complementing her light brown features. "Hello, Ron. I'm so pleased to see you are recovering."

Ron's jaw dropped so comically that Hermione reached over with a few fingertips to lift it back into position.

"But ... you're ..." spluttered the astonished boy.

Hermione said, "Imogene is your guardian angel. She can morph wings when roused to action, and it was she that lifted us all out to the clearing. Aculus took it upon himself to fetch her. You remember my familiar? The raven?"

Bewildered, Ron could only nod, hardly hearing what Hermione was saying.

"As soon as we approached the pool, Aculus sensed a threatening disturbance in the ether, and sped away to bring help. We think – Luna and I, that the proto-life was attempting to mimic consciousness as well as physical particles. Olive and I heard a voice forming, and some of my thinking was drawn out and conveyed to her perceptions."

Startled by the mention of Olive's name, Ron said, "Merlin! Is she okay? Olive? She was being horribly choked to death by that mud. I was petrified she'd–"

"–I took her first as you insisted," said Imogene, "though you were not far from dying yourself. She's out of danger now."

Ron stared at the young woman, his mind whirling. Finally, he said, "Thank you. Thank you for saving her – all of us, I mean."

Ron's eyes flicked to the curtains that still remained closed around one of the beds and he struggled to sit upright. "I want to see her."

"You can't," said Hermione, pushing him back down. "She..."

"...doesn't want to see you," said Imogene.

"What! Anyone, you mean? Or Just me?"

"Ron, it's not what you think," said Hermione.

"What then?"

Imogene said, "She's hideous now, Ron. You won't want to mate with her anymore, and she can't bear for you to see her without her most delightful, most charming, most feminine, most desirable–"

"–What!" spluttered Ron, his ears turning crimson.

"Imogene, please, let me tell it," said Hermione. "Ron, it's just that..."

Ron waited, holding his breath.

"It's her hair, Ron," said Hermione. "Olive's lost all her hair. She thinks you won't like her anymore."

Ron's mouth opened but no words came out for a few seconds, then, in a soft murmur, he said, "Not like her? Not like _her_ just because of hair?"

"Oh, Ron, you must have noticed? Wherever the mud covered us, it repelled any dead matter such as surface skin and fingernail cells and hair right down to the roots. That was the tingling we felt."

Ron blinked for a few moments, then composed himself. "Tell her I'd like her no matter what she looks like."

"Oh, Ron, that's sweet of you – but it's more she'd be embarrassed for you to see her now, and Madam Pomfrey says it will take hours for her hair to grow back fully, even with her very best potions. Poor Matron, she's been rushed off her feet treating us all."

Ron said, "Ginny? Luna?"

"Both okay. Luna is resting after being treated with Skele-Gro – your 'strategy' cracked one of her ribs, you know." Hermione frowned quite severely, causing Ron to wince.

"Uuh... sorry about that."

"Ginny sprained an ankle and twisted a muscle or something in her leg – she's fine now though."

"And did the mud die... sort of, I mean, when Pomfrey erm... rubbed it off?"

Hermione's eyes flickered wide for a moment in surprise.

Imogene said, "No, that mud slithered off as I lifted each of you up to the opening in the dome roof. None of it came out at all. As for that... monstrosity–"

"The Neville-beast?"

Imogene nodded. "Yes, that huge creature that looked like your friend – it reached up, then collapsed as I carried the boy out."

Hermione said – and it sounded to Ron like she'd memorised her own conclusions – "It was just a chemical process that partly duplicated what it reacted to in its environment, but it had no intelligence or memory so the process failed when the original was removed. Luna told me it wasn't clever, though I didn't understand her at the time."

Baffled, Ron slowly shook his head, and decided to change the subject. "What now?"

"Ah... that's the problem. The Headmaster wishes to speak to us when we've all been released by Madam Pomfrey."

"Ah..." murmured Ron, cringing again inwardly. "Well, if we're going to be expelled, at least I'll have the satisfaction of seeing that git, Malfoy, get his comeuppance. He deserves Azkaban for leaving us to die. There's no way he can wriggle out of this one."

Hermione exchanged glances with Imogene, then said, "Ron, there's something you should know..."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _As an added help to trick characters into underestimated Hermione, noellesullivan suggested she be short. I have already considered that from an earlier suggestion and am undecided, partly because it ought to have been mentioned much earlier, and partly because I just don't really see her as especially short, and she's a year older than most others in her year. I suppose she could be taking a potion to keep her at her current height for a few years, then stop taking it when she's ready to blossom out._ :D

 _Another reviewer, Fifi also considered the story rather slow and wanted more action. Hope this chapter was a bit more exciting for you, but generally, all stories have to ebb and flow, and in a long epic those ups and downs tend to be stretched out. Not sure what I can do about this but I'll keep it in mind._

 _Susie asked for clarification about the dome. Not sure what specifically is unclear unless you mean about only living things passing through the gates? If you're wondering why it's there, well, it is a mystery in the fiction and will always remain ambiguous. My notion (in the story) is that life might have generated at magical foci throughout the world and the thorns grew up naturally around it later (like a fairy ring which are real circles of mushrooms, etc.) Later, ancient magical folk built the gates for whatever reason, and later still, the myth arose about them. Maybe someone saw a colossal mud copy of someone and the gatekeeper, Thuros, fable arose._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	61. 2:The Appalling Aftermath

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school. Neville and Luna went missing in search of a mysterious gate into a dome of thorns in the Forest, but the others rescued them. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 61**

 **The Appalling Aftermath**

* * *

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Coaching

Despite his badgering Hermione, Ron had to wait until early in the morning after he first awoke in Hogwarts' Hospital wing before she would reveal what had been learnt about Draco's fate. He'd not slept well. Olive had been told she could have breakfast in the Great Hall, and Ron anticipated that was when he'd see her again. The delay rankled, made it seem longer than it really was. However, anxiety about the coming confrontation with the Headmaster caused time to race, and it was a very tired and confused Ron who was dismissed with the others by Madam Pomfrey at six o'clock.

"Olive," he said softly, as the white curtains swished back and she joined the other girls with Neville in their approach. Her hair was restored to normal length, though never enough to obscure the self-conscious expression. Ron gave her a sickly smile but she didn't move closer than a Ginny and Luna away from him.

Awkwardness pierced the air like the embarrassing glare of daylight after drunken confessions. Hermione punctured the vacuum with a breezy, matter-of-fact tone. "We've time to talk in 4J before breakfast. Get our story sorted out."

Ron nodded. The others didn't, which Ron took to mean they already knew of the arrangement. That didn't help the sense of frailty and disconnectedness a night's unrest had stirred up within him.

Imogene was no longer present, of course, and he didn't ask about her. Presumably she'd gone home after the rescue made him wonder if she lived up on a cloud and played a harp when she wasn't saving people.

Off they trudged. Harry joined them on the way, but although relief showed in his eyes, he displayed the same glumness all of them did. "I got a month of weekly detentions," he explained, "but–"

"A month!" exploded Ron, animated for the first time since arising. "Just for breaking curfew?"

"The Slytherin prefect told–"

"Farley! That–!" Ron swallowed the expletive that was on the tip of his tongue. Truth was, now time had passed, he felt strangely sorry for the girl after witnessing Draco's treatment of her.

"–she told McGonagall it was rumoured I was sneaking out to the Forest to search for _you_ two." Harry gestured at Luna and Neville. "McGonagall wasn't even interested in my explanation because why else would I be in the Entrance Hall that early not long after talking to her about it?"

The others ummed and ahhed a mixture of comprehension, sympathy, and feelings of injustice at the penalty as they entered Classroom 4J. It was still untidy from the last Potions lesson before Easter. Nobody cared.

"Well, if you got four detentions for only _intending_ to go to the Forest, then _we_ are doomed," said Neville gloomily. "Expulsion for sure."

"Not if we craft our excuses very carefully," said Hermione, and there was a glimmer of hope in her tone as she thought it out. "Look, Luna promised not to go in deeper than the fringes of the Forest, right? In fact, in a curious way, she and Neville never entered the Forest at all."

"What!" cried Ginny. "But–"

"–Think about it. They flew around the Forest then, on finding the dome on the far edge, they flew over it. They never passed over any trees other than the thorn trees and they're–"

"–Not really trees at all!" cried Neville excitedly. "They're unclassified, primitive, and probably date from not long after the dawn of botanical life. I brought back a few prickles to show Madam–"

"Yes, yes, Neville," said Hermione, cutting him off before he got too carried away by his own enthusiasm. "The thing is, the dome is effectively right on the edge of the Forest near the perimeter wall of Hogwarts, and, in a way, its inner barrier marks the edge of the Forest on that side."

"So none of us entered the Forest proper!" said Ron. "We skirted it along the stone wall then we continued along the dome wall!"

"Exactly," said Hermione, triumphant that if Ron could grasp what she meant, then all of them would.

"Erm..." murmured Ginny doubtfully.

"Look," said Hermione, "imagine the Forest pressed in on that side by the dome of thorns outside it. There's a narrow gap between them which, where it widens out, is where the gates are."

"Yeah, that's one way of looking at it," said Ron. "Let's not use the word 'clearing' at all."

"Precisely. So Luna and Neville discovered a big patch of thorns _outside_ the Forest, flew over it, the broomsticks failed, and they fell inside and got lost."

"And us?" said Ginny.

"Well, you, Ron, and Harry tried to explain to Professor McGonagall that's where they'd be, but were not believed. Naturally, we had to at least search for them around the far edges of the Forest without actually going inside."

"What about Imogene?" said Ginny.

"Uumm... I told Dumbledore she's a friend I called in. Let's say I left word with an adult as a sensible precaution if we did not return before nightfall."

"And Draco?" growled Ron.

"Ah, yes... I was coming to that. Last night I placed myself where I could eavesdrop on a conversation between him, Farley, and Snape. I only caught the tail end of it but I think they've concocted a cover story because they sounded very confident."

"Yeah, well, Malfoy didn't know I was there and heard everything! When I tell Dumbledore what happened, it'll blast any excuse to pieces." Ron rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

The group continued talking for a while then made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Dumbledore was not present, but before a single cornflake was shaken into a bowl, McGonagall was bristling over towards them, eyes and nostrils flaring, and drawing Olive in her wake from the Ravenclaw table.

"Do not keep Professor Dumbledore waiting any longer! Madam Pomfrey informed me you were dismissed half an hour ago!"

Harry piped up, "But surely they can eat first!"

"Keep out of this, Potter," snapped McGonagall. "The rest of you, follow me to the Headmaster's Office – at the double!"

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Cover Up

A surprise awaited the children as they entered the Head's study; not only was Snape and Flitwick there, but Lucius Malfoy stood with a concerned, fatherly hand upon his son's shoulder. His sigh of relief was ambiguous but Snape sneer's was not:

"Finally, the guilty absconders condescend to grace us with their presence, no doubt having taken time to concoct a wild story."

"Severus, please," said Dumbledore, and the seriousness in his tone caused everyone to still their murmurings and pay attention.

"Now, children, I'd like to know what explanation you have for your behaviour."

Hermione prepared herself, but then decided to remain inconspicuous behind Ron and the others for the time being.

Luna spoke up first. "It was my fault, Head–"

"– _Our_ fault," said Neville, daring a toe forward. "We only scouted the edge of the Forest, and–"

"–A blatant lie," sneered Snape.

"–and flew on our broomsticks to be extra careful," Luna continued. "But we were curious about a huge cluster of strange thorns, and descended to investigate. Our broomsticks stopped working and we spent hours trying to find a way out."

Dumbledore said, "Hagrid informed me you had promised not to venture too deeply into the Forest so he could keep an eye on you from time to time. When he was unable to see you for almost twenty minutes, he went to investigate. He searched the boundaries of the Forest for another half an hour yet never saw you. How could that be?"

"Perhaps he didn't look far enough along?" said Neville, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

Hermione held her breath.

It was a while before Dumbledore spoke. "I see," he said finally. "You travelled further _around_ the Forest?"

"Yes, Professor. We kept our promise to Hagrid."

"And did it not occur to you that he wanted to keep you two in sight?"

Luna's look of surprise was real. "He did? We thought he only wanted us to remain in the safe and friendly area at the border."

Neville squeezed back an urge to shuffle his feet, and nodded vigorously instead.

Dumbledore stared severely at them for a while before turning to the others. "And the rest of you? You disobeyed not only my direct orders but those of your head of house."

Ron felt Hermione's hand gently push him forward. "Uumm... well, we did try to erm... inform you that uuh... we thought that's where they'd gone but – well, we couldn't just leave them to die, could we!" The last part he blurted out, but it helped him gather momentum. "You see, me and Olive discovered these bronze gates into the thorns months ago when we were... uumm... you know – and–"

"–and we'll always help our friends if they're in trouble, no matter what!" Ginny had defiantly stepped forward to take a stand beside her brother.

Ron pointed at Draco and shouted, "And that git knew we were in a fix and left us to rot!"

"How dare you!" said Mr Malfoy. "My son's behaviour has been exemplary."

Snape said, "We have already heard young Malfoy's testimony while you were all gorging yourselves on sausages and–"

"He KNEW we'd die!" yelled Ron.

Mr Malfoy drawled, "Which is why he tried to help you."

"What! If he'd helped us anymore, we'd be as dead as dippler docuses!"

Dumbledore had held up his hand to quieten the tumult. "Severus, for the sake of harmony, perhaps you might enlighten them."

"Certainly, Headmaster. Firstly, Draco suspected you planned to break the rules again, and informed a prefect in the hope of preventing you from plunging recklessly into serious danger. Unfortunately, your gang had split up by then and only Potter was saved."

"What! I don't believe this!" cried Ron. "If that prefect was Farley, then she was in on it!"

Snape's glare was both haughty and condescending, as if explaining to a six-year-old. "Miss Farley was one of the prefects I allocated to search the Forest with me. As we entered, I instructed my group to spread out slightly to cast our net wider so to speak. Draco caught up with her to share his thoughts on your whereabouts and she lagged behind, thus losing contact with me. In the emergency situation they found themselves, the pair of them then made the brave decision to fly over the Forest to find and help you as best they could."

Ron's mouth gaped in astonishment.

Dumbledore said, "Draco, if you would tell them what you discovered, please?"

Draco smiled sadly. "We found the big gates easily enough but were distraught to detect footprints up to them. However, on opening the gates, it was obvious the ground within was unmarked so we felt our duty was to hurry back to report to you, sir."

"You lying toe-rag!" shouted Ron. "You knew we–"

"–You laughed at us!" cried Luna. "Shame on you."

"We laughed with relief because we thought you'd turned back."

"You came through the gates too!" bellowed Ron. "I saw you and heard what was said!"

Draco flinched, but there was also a hint of confusion in his eyes. "But–"

"That's enough," said Dumbledore. "I can confirm that Draco did inform me of what he'd discovered and begged me to send help. He is also willing to imbibe a truth potion, and I have no doubt such testimony would verify his other claims."

Neville said, "Wh–! But, Veritaserum can't be given to students!"

"Mr Longbottom!" cried McGonagall. "Do NOT contradict the Headmaster!"

Dumbledore said, "Veritaserum _can_ be administered with a parent's approval and presence, and Mr Malfoy has not only agreed but in fact insisted we do so. However, the decision rests with myself and I accept Draco's version of events."

"Well I believe in Ron." And to Ron's great surprise and relief, Olive strode forward to stand with Ginny beside him too. " _He_ was the one who helped save us when the staff refused to listen to him." She avoided eye contact with McGonagall, who had noticeably stiffened at her words.

Quickly, Neville and Luna joined them, and Hermione was left exposed and stranded. She raised a hand meekly as she also placed a nervous foot forward. " _Yesth, thso insthtead_ w-we told a _resthponsible_ adult where we'd be"

Dumbledore said, "Ah, your friend, Miss Dunn who fetched you out?"

 _Yesth, sthir._ "

"Very well," said the Headmaster. He paused, but only briefly. "Your heads of house will decide what is to be done about such serious rule-breaking, but there are grounds for leniency, and so I am recommending only detentions and loss of house points as a deterrent."

He peered over his spectacles at Luna and Neville, "As for you two, we do not punish foolishness but we must correct it. I am suggesting you apologise to Hagrid, serve one instructional detention with him, and are henceforth banned completely from even the borders of the Forest" – Luna and Neville cried out in dismay but Dumbledore raised his voice over their protests – "unless supervised."

"And my son, Dumbledore?" said Mr Malfoy. "He obeyed all the rules, was accompanied at all times by an authorised prefect, and reported the whereabouts of the missing children to you immediately on his return."

The Headmaster waved a hand dismissively. "Let Severus decide. The rest of you may go."

McGonagall gestured for them to follow and they began to shuffle after her.

Snape said, "I have already awarded twenty house points to Miss Farley, but since young Malfoy took the lead in guiding her _authorised_ search, I award him fifty."

"WHAT!" Ron, stiffened in mid-stride, clenched his fists, and the tips of his ears flushed redly as he turned back. "How can you possibly–!" but Olive and Ginny dragged him away towards the door which McGonagall had already opened.

He spluttered and growled all the way down the stair, but then he felt Hermione's hand on his elbow. When he glared back at her, she gave him an assured nod, and his shoulders relaxed somewhat. Hermione can sort out anything, Ron reminded himself. _This isn't over!_

.

Devil in the Details

A couple of days passed without the seven having much time to discuss events because McGonagall made sure to split up their detentions. Ginny was sorting and counting matchsticks and needles under her scrutiny while Ron was swabbing out the lowest, stinkiest washrooms for Filch.

Harry, meanwhile, had to scrape out the owlery with a bucket and trowel. Hermione – who had not been with the other three when McGonagall had insisted they leave the search to the Headmaster – did better; she only had to write out a thousand lines without magic and watched carefully by the Professor.

As for Luna and Neville, they found Hagrid slightly gruff with them for a few minutes, but his heart was too big to be annoyed for long, and soon they were being taught safe woodcraft in the fringes of the Forest not far from his hut.

Finally, Flitwick, who secretly wanted to award house points for her courageous action, sent Olive to 'help' Madam Pince, and they had a fine time chatting in her office.

It was Thursday evening before the seven of them could meet together in Room 4J without breaking any rules. Yet the mood was dull, not anticipatory, resigned rather than hopeful. Ron was still fuming on and off like an uphill steam train, his mood relieved only by faith that Hermione would somehow, one day, get revenge on Draco. She'd got rid of Umbridge, hadn't she? Olive sensed his inner turmoil, and gave his arm a squeeze.

Hermione swished her wand to clear away the remnants of the last Potions lesson they'd rushed from before the Easter holidays. Only when the last cauldron had scuttled into its cupboard did she summon herself a chair and join the others who were already picking over the pieces of what had transpired.

"None of this makes sense," said Harry, who'd only heard disjointed accounts of his friends' experience. "Draco seems just the same to me. Ron, are you sure you understood him right? Maybe they just opened the gates to look inside like he said?"

Ron sighed. "I KNOW, okay? Luna and Neville saw the poncey git leave too."

"Well..." muttered Neville.

"What?" said Harry.

"I think we should go over everything more carefully," said Hermione, turning to Neville, "starting with you and Luna, when you saw Draco leave."

Neville looked at Luna. "Luna, erm... we didn't actually _see_ him leave, did we? Not walk out through the gates?"

"Yes, I see it in my head," said Luna. "People have a different look after they've done something. So you know. You can tell if someone's just stood up or if they're about to sit down, can't you?"

Hermione hissed out softly through her teeth. "Tell us precisely what you did see."

Neville got in first. "The girl was–"

"Gemma Farley? The prefect?"

"Yes. She was standing by the gate as if she'd pushed it open."

Olive said, "Playing the part of Thuros, the gatekeeper who–"

"– _as if?"_ cut in Hermione. "How can someone stand _as if?_ Was her hand on the gate?"

"No, the gate was closing by then. But she looked as if she'd–"

Hermione shook her head.

"She must have!" insisted Neville. "When we got to the gate we couldn't open it from this side. There's no handle, and we couldn't push it the other way."

"It's wrought bronze!" protested Hermione. "Couldn't you have _pulled_ it open?"

"We couldn't get our fingers to it properly. Couldn't get hold of it, could we, Princess?"

Luna said, "The mud didn't quite reach to the gates. It held us back."

Olive nodded. "Only the gatekeeper can open–"

"–Maybe Draco could have done it himself if he wasn't muddy," said Hermione, quickly.

Ron shook his head. "Listen, Draco told Farley to repeat her orders, and she replied she had to open the gates. She did it too, to let him enter, but he said he didn't mean that. I understand that now. They both knew he was talking about she was to open them when he came back. He glared at her, threatened her."

"Anyway, his willy's really small," pouted Luna.

Ginny burst out in a giggling fit and Ron roared with laughter. "See? That proves it! Why would he strip off if he never went in the dome?"

"I thought you said he was wearing waders?" said Hermione.

Luna said, "He flung his pantaloons in through the gates before they shut so I got a good look. That's when he saw us coming and laughed. Sort of as if he threw them into the mud for spite. Like throwing bread in a stinky gutter to tease a beggar. But we didn't know what they were then."

"So what did they look like?" said Hermione. "I mean, could you have used them? Maybe he wanted you to? I'm trying to work out why in some ways he seemed to want to help. I mean, he actually did tell Dumbledore where we–"

"–Yeah, after he thought it was too late to save us!" cried Ron. "He was covering his own arse."

"Yet he really did stop Harry–" Hermione stopped. Looked thoughtful suddenly. "Why didn't he–?"

"–No, he knew we couldn't use his leggings," said Neville, "that's why he flung them in the mud. They were thick with it."

"Yes, but, I was wondering why exactly didn't Farley report you all back at the Entrance Hall? Ginny, you said she must have seen Ron at least?"

"Unless she's really, really stupid, which the cow is anyway."

"Ginny..." cautioned Ron.

"What, you fancy her now, do you?"

"No, but..." Then, after a sideways glance at Olive, he added, "You didn't see her like I did. She's a bit... messed up frankly. In over her head, I reckon."

Hermione said, "We're missing something. Why did Draco really go there? And why would he enter the dome? Tell us everything that happened, Ron."

With much prompting, Ron painstakingly related the episode with Malfoy and Farley in the clearing.

"So, he had a map to help him find the dome?" said Harry.

"Not only find it, but where to go inside. He studied it and used the _Point Me_ spell just before entering."

"This is unbelievable," said Neville. "He just happened to be going to the dome at the same time we were?"

"No," said Hermione thoughtfully, "he must have been planning to go for some time. He looked especially interested when the Headmaster first announced that Luna and Neville had gone missing in the Forest. He spoke to Farley. I thought he was getting permission to leave dinner early but–"

"–You don't need permission if you finish early," said Neville.

"I know," said Hermione. "She met up with him later in the library. I bet they were studying the book of fables that Madam Pince wanted to show us. But I think he must have already known something about the dome – and he'd have heard Ron talking about his and Olive's adventures in the Forest too. And he might have overheard us talking that breakfast before Easter, remember? We were a bit loud. Blue light anyone? Thorny dome? Luna even asked about abominable snowmen in the Defence class. Holy Cricket, we might as well have used a Sonorous charm to broadcast our intentions!"

Ron said, "But nobody would have understood what we–"

"–unless they already knew about the dome! Somehow Draco pieced it all together that was where Luna and Neville had gone and we were likely to follow. Suppose he'd been planning to go there himself for some reason? Not easy to get away without being noticed."

"Especially if you're a cowardly git like him," snuffed Ron.

"Well, here was a golden opportunity. A perfect cover for whatever he was trying to do. The heads of house were organising prefects to help in the search. He must already have had some connection with Farley. The rest is history. So...?"

"So what?" said Ron.

"What was he after?"

"How should I know?"

"You followed him, Ron! You must have spotted some clue as to what he was intending to do."

"I told you, I lost sight of him around the pool, and his tracks had faded away." He paused, thinking. "We came from the west and I followed him around the pool to the right – which is erm... south of it – but he'd continued ahead by the time I'd found a bit of rock for a weapon. Maybe he went north. I was more concerned about warning you!"

"About what?"

"I told you, he said you'd all die without protection."

"That's another thing – those so-called 'magical' pants, but magic doesn't work in–"

"Not 'pants' – leggings. They were tight fishing waders or something to keep the mud off."

"And did they?"

"Did they what?"

Hermione sighed. "Keep the mud off him?"

"Well obviously. He was wearing waders!"

Hermione scratched her bushy head. "How did he–?"

She, Olive, and Luna gasped together and stared at one another.

Olive said, "Ron, were the waders splashed with mud?"

"Of course they were."

"Pig skin," said Hermione. "He slaughtered a big wild boar just like we... that is, _I_ , killed that Grump Grouse. He knew in advance so could prepare."

"Wow! He he'd have to be brilliant at magic then to hunt it, stun it, skin and flay it, then cut it down to fit," said Ron, "all while flying over the Forest and dancing the polka on his broomstick and still get there not long after we did! Not to mention lucky in even spotting a wild boar. We only saw one family of pigs in all the weeks we were there before, didn't we, Olive?"

She nodded. "The Forest is huge."

"Anyway," continued Ron, "Malfoy said they must have charmed the leggings for protection, so somebody else did it for him."

"Who?" said Neville.

"I think I know," Harry said quietly.

Everyone looked at him.

"Remember that breakfast we were talking about? An eagle owl delivered him a big package."

"Oh, I remember that!" cried Luna. "She had lovely big wings!"

"Too long ago," said Hermione. "It would–"

She froze suddenly as a new thought struck her. And then a cascade of ideas flooded her mind: Rita Skeeter's handbag. Snape's comments about it. Draco likely being a member of the Black Arc.

And then...

"Omigod!" She turned on Neville. "You said he flung those trousers in the mud. They were thick with it?"

He nodded. "Yes."

To Ron she cried, "And they fitted Draco snugly?"

"Yeah, stretchy. Tailor-made."

Out came Hermione's organiser and she began scribbling furiously in it. There came a moment when she stopped. The planner fell from her hands. She ran out of the room, clutching her mouth.

"Hermione!" cried Harry.

"What's going on?" shouted Ron.

Harry looked to Ginny. "Go after her. She didn't look well."

Ginny was already on her way before he finished speaking.

Luna had picked up Hermione's organiser. "It's an alphabetical list."

"Of what?" said Neville.

"Names."

"Whose?"

"Everybody's. Well, second-years. Mostly in Crest."

Neville took it from her and read quickly down the list, pausing only at his own and Luna's names. Finally he looked up. "It's you, Harry. Something bad must be going to happen to you."

"What!" Harry strode forward and snatched the planner from Neville's hands.

"See?" said Neville, leaning over Harry's shoulder to point. "She just started to write your name then stopped. That's when she ran out."

"Po– that might be Ponsonby. Isn't there a Ponsonby?" he said hopefully.

Ron said gravely, "Harry, I doubt there's a Ponsonby anywhere under the sun, let alone in second-year."

Ginny had silently re-entered through the open doorway. "She's... she'll be back in a minute or two. Got to clean up her robes."

"She's been sick?" said Olive. "Must be bad then."

Ginny nodded.

Everyone looked at Harry, and he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Most everyone did for the next minute or so, not sure what to say. Only when Harry's eyes flicked towards the doorway did they look round. Hermione was there.

From her bag she took some folded parchments. Her voice was strained as she said, "Harry, can you give these to Farrimond and send Hedwig to your parents with an urgent message for me?"

His eyes rounded. So did his mouth. "Wh...?"

"Ask them if... ask them if I can come over tonight and bring–"

"Tonight? But Dumbledore will do his nut if we break any more rules or–"

"To hell with Dumbledore!" shrieked Hermione, and the frightening energy of her magic spat and crackled and split the air around them. "And the whole rotten world with him!" Her screams collapsed in her throat to a heart-wrenching low croak. " _this is too, too desperately awful..._ "

She broke down in tears then and for several seconds everyone stiffened in shock. They'd never known their guiding guardian, their foundation, their rock to be so upset. Ginny went and put an arm round Hermione's shoulder and steered her to a chair.

" _sorry..."_ Hermione whimpered in a tiny voice. "I'm just so bone-weary of it all. I was stupid enough to think that this time around, things would be different."

Shining eyes then flitted to Ron and Olive, back and forth between them, as if deciding. "Ron, it has to be you. Your help is needed once more. But this would be the hardest thing you've ever had to face. Please, Ron..."

Ron blinked only once, touched by the sincerity of her appeal. "Of course I'll help, Hermione. Of course I will."

"Harry, tell your mother there'll be three of us coming over if that's alright. But it could be hours yet. Explain that I'm distraught; she'll understand."

Harry nodded. "I'm with you, Hermione. Together we can–"

"–No, Harry. Not this time. You can never know. None of you can ever know – except Ron."

Something had changed, and Harry was stricken with a fearful sense of loss. Hermione stood up and he handed over her organiser as if it were a final contact – a parting gift torn out of his heart. For a while she stared at it, then silently opened her beaded bag again and drew out the Zabini knife. The blade flashed and the last page of her planner split into thousands of cascading dust motes which flamed into nothing before they reached the floor.

"The meeting's over. I need to speak to Ron privately."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Yeah, that nervous lisp again. I've been phasing it out but here I felt it important for Hermione to take a back seat and encourage the others, especially Ron, to stand up for themselves. Just remember, she's faking it, and many adults suffer it for real – just google_ _ **nervous lisp**_ _if you don't believe me. Sooner or later, the Black Arc are going to notice dark wizards are erm... disappearing, and wonder who's behind it. Hermione wants to be the last person they'd ever think of._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	62. 2:Bringing Out The Inner Ron

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption and Crest at Hogwarts where she is now in her second year. With her friends, Hermione was discussing why Draco went into the dome of thorns when she became very upset and asked to speak to Ron privately. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 62**

 **Bringing Out The Inner Ron**

* * *

.

A Charmed Life

Once their friends had filtered reluctantly out of Class 4J, Ron looked expectantly at Hermione, wondering what ordeal lay ahead of him. Only when the door was closed after Harry's final backward glance, did Hermione caution Ron to brace himself in preparation for what she was about to tell him.

They sat down. Slowly.

Out from her bag she withdrew Rita Skeeter's handbag and examined it carefully. "The Black Arc bribed Rita Skeeter with this gift so the Daily Prophet would play down the attacks at Hyde Park. Snape heard her ask if the skin of which it was made might be still living."

"What!" gasped Ron. "You mean, like that Grump Grouse skin?"

"Yes, except the crafting of this handbag would take much longer so how could it remain alive all that time? I have one theory..."

Ron waited.

"In the middle ages there was a warlock who could literally poke his nose into other people's business."

"Ah yeah, Quirentus Gamp – his ears to the ground as well. Wasn't that just a story? I mean, the bits about thumb in pies and foot in doors? I mean, how'd he fit them back on himself?"

"Well some of it was probably embellished, but the Gamp family were renowned for their extensive theoretical research and spell creation, so there's definitely some truth behind the tales. If that dark knowledge was passed down the family line then–"

"–I don't think there are any Gamps surviving, that I've heard of anyway."

"Well, not in name, but down the maternal line someone might have learnt the secret of keeping skin tissue–"

"–The pig skin!" cried Ron. "That's how he did it! How they kept it alive so he could take it into the dome. I bet the Malfoys are related to the Gamps – all the pure-blood families are distant cousins anyway."

Hermione stared at him without speaking.

His eyes drifted down to the handbag she was clutching on her lap, and his unspoken question rose between them.

Hermione said, "I now believe this was merely a test to prove the charm works. Perhaps one of several experiments. Oh, it didn't need to be anything so exotic as a sea dragon handbag. And probably not relevant that they gave it to Rita as a bribe."

The tension in Ron's shoulders eased a little, but his grin was forced. "Unlikely they just happened to have the odd sea dragon hanging around though?"

Hermione nodded without smiling. "I know of only one dark wizard who is expert enough at... tailoring something as snug as Draco's leggings. ... Were they more like a short unitard? – oh, you probably don't know what that is."

Ron shook his head. "They were like elastic waders high over the waist so anglers can get nearer the best fish."

Hermione watched him relax and smile even more as he remembered his brother Charlie casting flies for trout in the river near their home. That wasn't how she remembered the man.

She waited.

The smile on Ron's face faded away. "You want me to go back, don't you? Into the dome. Try to find those leggings." His voice had dropped lower and lower.

She barely shook her head as she lifted up the handbag. "I believe the sea dragon was still alive when this was made."

But Ron was too deep in thought to pay full attention. "They'll be – no, they won't be spewed up by the mud like the Grouse skin because that died. If the pig skin is still living then–"

"No, Ron. It's not about the leggings. They'll be lost deep in the blue sludge." She was still holding up the handbag.

"What then? Oh, what were you saying about the sea dragon?" He jerked to attention suddenly as it sank in what she'd told him previously. "Still alive!" He shuddered. "That means... not just the skin but the pig itself...?" He pulled a face. "That is plain... sick. Why would they?"

"Remember, Quirentus Gamp was still alive when he earwigged on people? His living was necessary to keep the ear alive and functioning. The spell bound living to living. As long as he lived, then the ear would."

She lowered the handbag. "But I'm fairly sure this must be truly dead by now. The sea dragon would have died within days from massive infections and trauma."

Hermione put the handbag away in her own bag then went over to the potions cupboard where she kept ingredients and equipment for her lessons. She took out three bottles.

"That's the–!" Ron gasped. "The Unnoticeable Potion?"

"And antidotes. They're clearly labelled. Put them in your bag and don't mix them up."

"Why two counter-potions?"

From her beaded bag she retrieved another small vial and the Zabini knife with its fine leather holster. "Put this potion with the others in your bag, Ron."

He glanced at the label. "Draught of–" Ron gasped. "Merlin! This is Living Death!"

"Hold this knife and your wand and repeat after me..."

Ron's jaw had dropped. He fumbled the Living Death vial into his bag and took the the knife with a shaking hand.

"Careful! There's an everlasting razor edge on that – along with other bewitchments. ... Hold it up ... and your wand – like so ... that's it."

"Hermione..."

"Repeat after me: _This night I swear to serve the Granger line._ "

Ron could barely speak at first, but he recovered to make the declaration clearly. As he did so, his face flashed with an iridescence reflected from the blade.

Hermione smiled grimly. "Now it cannot be used against you. You won't even be able to cut yourself."

"What am I supposed to do with it, Hermione?"

"Attach it to your belt."

He rolled his eyes as he did so. "T'uh, no, I meant..."

"Hopefully, nothing, but be prepared to defend yourself and me – don't stun or disarm; use a fast blasting, cutting, or Reducto curse in the first instance. If your wand is taken, then cry "For the Grangers!" or somesuch and use the knife. The exact words are not important, only the intent; it's bewitchment will carry it straight and true. You'll be meeting your first Death Ea– I should say, Arcanist, tonight. One who will not hesitate to–"

"–The Black Arc! Oh, come on, Hermione! I'm not–"

"You're thirteen years old, Ronald! Harry had faced Voldemort several times by–"

"–But he's Harry Potter!"

"And you're a Weasley!"

"No. I can't just–"

She slapped him in the face. "The man you'll meet gutted your brother Charlie, and even as he was still screaming, neatly sliced the intestines so he could hang them up to spell _Blood Traitor_ – while I shook with fright in a cupboard. Charlie saved me that day, Ron – will you avenge him by trying to do the same?"

Ron sank down onto the nearest chair, face pale as a ghost except for a faint red mark where Hermione's hand had struck him.

"They're not human, Ron. They're less than animals. I plan to put him in prison but I'll kill him in a heartbeat if I need to."

He nodded dumbly. "Is this why you chose me and not Olive? I saw you looking at us."

"That and other reasons such as trust."

"You can trust Olive!"

"I believe I can, but with you, I KNOW for certain. You've proven yourself again and again. No one I'd rather have by my side backing me up than you."

Ron gulped, eyes wide and mouth agape. "I'm not _that_ Ron Weasley."

"No, you're better."

There was a sound at the door. Ron was quickly on his feet, wand drawn.

Hermione sighed, "You can come in now, Harry."

The door opened and Harry glared at them both. "Aren't I good enough then? I want to come too!"

Hermione said, "Ron, how long did it take you to get fully used to the effects of the Unnoticeable potion?"

"Wh–? Days – no, weeks really."

"Harry, I need someone to act quickly and instinctively in a very strange situation. That's why I can't do it myself."

"I don't need to sneak!" sneered Harry.

"THAT'S NOT WHAT IT'S FOR!" cried Hermione.

Harry's startled expression was matched by Ron's.

Hermione said, "It's not about either of you two, but someone who desperately, desperately needs the best help we can give him."

"Who?" said Ron and Harry together.

She drew a quick breath but then hesitated, a confused expression on her face.

"Who, Hermione?" said Ron. "Who is he?"

She bit her lip, feeling lost. As ever, she pulled the organiser out of her bag, but this time it didn't help. "There's a page missing. ... Did I... destroy it?"

There was a wicker waste basket over by her desk, and she ran to it. It was empty.

"What, Hermione? Destroy what? You mean your list of names?" said Harry.

Hermione stared mournfully at the torn planner, and muttered her thoughts half-aloud, _What was I thinking? Did I make notes about... someone?_

Harry said, "It was me, Hermione. I sent Hedwig to Mum to say you were coming. You found out something really terrible was going to happen to me at home and you're trying to stop it before I return there. You don't need to protect me all the time, Hermione."

"Something terrible?"

"You were sick, remember? Ginny said you'd been sick."

"That's right... but about what? Who? You?"

She looked forlornly once more at her organiser. "I have to start again. We need to start again. We were talking about...?"

"Draco," said Ron. "His pig skin leggings."

Hermione stared at him for a few moments, then her eyes widened. In a frenzy she began scribbling again in her organiser.

"You were writing down my name," said Harry.

" _Your_ name, Harry? Are you sure?"

"Yes, in a list you'd reached–"

"I reached _your_ name..." She closed her eyes, thinking once more of students as she'd known them in her former life. Remembrance flooded in again. "My God!"

Choking with emotion, she wrote down one name along with a few reminder notes. "It's not you, Harry."

"Who is he then?"

"I have to keep their situation secret. You wouldn't want me to betray their privacy, would you?"

Harry's shoulders slumped. "I guess not." He glanced at Ron then back at Hermione. "So I can't come?"

She shook her head.

He turned reluctantly away and headed for the door, pausing only once to look back. "Take care of her, Ron."

"I will."

Then he was gone.

.

The Absentee

After a few seconds, Ron walked to the door but before he could reach for the handle, Hermione said, "It's okay, he's really gone this time."

Ron nodded and started to come back, grunting, "He shouldn't have listened in the first time."

"He was worried about me."

"Oh yeah? What about me? Aren't I–?"

"I mean he was worried about me like you worry about Olive."

He froze in mid-stride, ears pinking a little, then continued skirting chairs and desks more slowly in his approach.

She waited until Ron was stood before her, then said, "Sit down and prepare yourself for what I'm about to tell you."

Lips firmed with anxiety, Ron did so, all the while watching Hermione's worried expression as she consulted the notes in her organiser. There was no easy way to inform him.

"It wasn't pig skin used for Draco's waders."

"What then?"

"It was human skin."

Ron frowned momentarily, then his eyes whitened with horror. "Human?"

She nodded. "And a young girl at that."

Ron gasped. "Who was she?"

"Pa–" A sob caught in Hermione's throat, and for a while she could not answer. Finally, she whispered, "Padma Patil," and lapsed into silence once more.

Ron's mixture of shock and confusion was no surprise. "You mean Parvati? They hurt Parvati! But she was here–"

"–No, her twin sister."

"Aah... that's sickening!" groaned Ron. "Poor Parvati, no wonder she was upset when..." Ron hesitated.

Hermione waited, knowing the outcome.

Ron tried to understand. "You mean you knew her... sister, did you say? That's why you felt ill?"

Again Hermione looked down at her Organiser and focused on the memories of Padma from her former life. "Yes, she's the one we must reach before–"

"–Who?"

"It's someone you knew, Ron, but she was made to drink the same corrupted Stultitia that you later fully absorbed accidentally – the potion that made you non-interactive and unnoticeable."

A flash of anger caused Ron to half-rise from his seat before lowering himself back again. "Snape? Snape! You mean Snape _did_ do that on purpose?"

"It was bungled in class so – you remember someone broke into The Burrow last summer?"

"That was Snape?" Ron _was_ on his feet now. "You mean that slime bag actually burgled our home? Wait till–"

"–No, Ron, you can't tell anyone yet, and certainly not your dad. You don't want to put him at risk, do you? I'll deal with Snape at the right time."

"But we can't let him–!"

"–Ron!"

"Okay! Okay! I got it. But why'd he break into _our_ house anyway?"

"He intended to kidnap you and deliver you to the Black Arc."

Ron's legs sagged him down onto his chair again. He began shaking. "The Black Arc? Me? Why'd they want me?"

"Don't worry, Ron, it wasn't you specifically they wanted – they don't even know about you."

"Who then? Who did they want?"

"Anyone, well not an adult. It had to be someone nearer... "

"Someone nearer what?"

"Someone nearer Draco's size. Any second-year would probably do."

His sharp intake of breath told Hermione that Ron had grasped it at last.

"Merlin's bones! Snape intended to kill and skin me like that Grouse you did? Just to protect Draco so he could–? What was so important that he–?"

"–Not Snape. I'm sure he knew nothing. I believe he was used only to deliver any suitable person and the potion to a common address with a Floo – I suspect a decorator's shop I know of at the far end of Knockturn Alley. I've had the place watched, but not twenty-four hours every day. Snape wouldn't be told the ultimate destination, nor why, nor to whom. I know only one dark wizard skilled enough with a knife to do this job."

"Who is he?" growled Ron, and his hand was on the hilt of the Zabini blade at his belt.

"The butcher who cut up Charlie so despicably. ... Walden Macnair."

.

The Method

"Macnair... Macnair..." Ron snarled repeatedly to himself in a low voice. "My dad's mentioned him. Doesn't he work for the Ministry?"

"Yes, he performs executions and other dirty jobs for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures – they were the department that investigated the demon last year."

"Then we've got him!" Ron said excitedly. "Dad might be able to find out his address."

Hermione shook her head. "It's too dangerous, and your dad is too visible. He'd have to search through the personnel department records. Anyway, I already have an inside man tracking down the comings and goings of suspected dark agents, and Macnair is on his list."

"What!" Ron was astounded. "Who?"

"Remember I told you all about the Cathesis League I set up?"

"Aah... one of them?"

"Yes."

Her wand swung, and from it leapt her graceful otter Patronus. After murmuring to it, the luminescent creature sped away through the stone wall.

"You never cease to amaze me, Hermione," said Ron, shaking his head in disbelief at everything he'd heard and seen.

"I'll teach you all that spell one day, maybe next year. It's difficult but just takes practice. It's all in here." She tapped the side of her head. "And you've already done it so I know you can."

Ron muttered softly under his breath, " _whoa..."_

For the next few minutes Hermione explained what lay ahead of them and his part in the endeavour. She wasn't easy on him. The lad bit his lip and his face looked rather like Hermione's had just before she'd vomited. "Merlin! So this kid's had the skin of his legs removed, right up above his waist?"

"She. It's a girl, Ron. Her name's Padma. She's Parvati's sister."

"A girl?" echoed Ron. "Total bastards!" His grimace was tight as he battled the torments of imagination. "How's it possible? How can anyone survive the–" He stopped as the answer hit him. "That's why they used the potion? To slow down the body rhythms so she'd take weeks to die? And so the skin wouldn't die like you said using old Gamp's spell to bind living to living. How repulsive is that?"

"Months. Years. Padma was kidnapped eight or nine months ago during the summer. They were just waiting for Draco to find an opportunity to visit the dome of thorns."

"The cowardly git! He's probably been shaking in his boots all year, putting it off as long as he could. Not caring that–"

"–He wouldn't know anything about her, Ron. He'd have been told to not arouse suspicion. That's how the Black Arc works. Only when – omigod!"

"What?"

"Draco was probably only ever instructed to report anything unusual that Harry is involved with – including his friends. It was not until you started telling everyone about your experience with the potion and discovering the thorns that they were triggered into action. My Goodness, they really are cellular. One event kickstarts one of their cells to inform another to act, then another, then another – even if it takes longer to carry out the whole operation. Slow but sure. They're virtually untraceable, unknowable!"

"What are you on about?"

"The Black Arc. One cell – Draco – sent his report to another cell – that is, an anonymous person we'll probably never know. That cell then contacted another cell – Macnair – to have the skin sent to another cell – maybe from there to Malfoy Manor – and from there to Draco with that eagle owl, remember? Probably only then did he get his orders and he wouldn't know what he was doing or why. He wouldn't even know what the skin was! And he was definitely Obliviated afterwards because he was ready to take Veritaserum. Remember how puzzled he was when you said he went through the gates? He wouldn't even remember that part, only that he'd gone to the clearing. I think Dumbledore saw that, you know, but couldn't do anything about it. He isn't stupid. I think he believed us."

"P'uh! Yet gave us detentions!"

"Best he could without arousing Lucius Malfoy's suspicion. We were expecting expulsion, remember?"

"I suppose so. Now what?"

"We have to–" she hesitated, then looked closely at her organiser. "Padma is likely driven quite mad by now."

"Who?"

Hermione pulled a face as she fought away frustration. "The one who was forced to take the Notice-me-not Potion. That must have been done that same night – within an hour or so of her being abducted – so nobody would notice she was missing, and..." She groaned. "The... erm... surgery would have to be done first else Macnair would forget all about her, wouldn't be able to see her."

"Ugh!" winced Ron. "I hope he stunned her before he... you know."

Hermione gaped at Ron at this new idea took root, then she burst out, "Ron! You've got it! Snape would have had to silence her somehow! There is hope! Listen, if Snape stunned her. Left her at a certain location. Macnair took her and operated then–"

"–then she's been unconscious all this time!" cried Ron. "She'd never wake up, not while she was slowed down by the potion. Olive had fifty-year-old bruises that didn't darken or even hurt until she took your antidote."

"Except you can't easily force that much Potion down the throat of a completely unconscious person. It was a whole beakerful, remember?"

Hermione thought about it for a while longer, then her face brightened. "Of course! That's why he kept the other ingredients separate!"

"What, like he did with me?"

"Yes. Snape first used a silencing charm then forced her to drink harmless Stultitia. Then he would have stunned and delivered her with a poultice of the extra ingredients – same as on your wooden pestle – that Macnair could then easily apply to her arm to transform Stultitia into the slow-down Potion."

"After the soandso first removed..." Ron groaned and cringed but there was no way to smother the images that raced through his mind. "And you want me to see that?"

A long slow breath brought Hermione down to earth, and she nodded. "You'd cope with the potion's effect better and more quickly than I could, Ron. Also, if I drank it myself, you'd forget about me in two minutes flat, whereas I have my old memories of you and Padma, and they are not affected so long as I'm dwelling on my former life – with my organiser as well, of course. If you take the potion and help Padma, I'll be there for you when you both reappear.

"Padma who?"

"Parvati's sister, remember?"

"Ah, yeah. But how exactly am I to give her the cure if she's unconscious?" said Ron.

Hermione frowned. "That's right... how?"

For several minutes she fretted. "Show me one of the antidotes."

Ron pulled out a vial and held it up. "Tasted faintly sweet when me and Olive used it before – we had to snuffle it down like pigs. Olive had some stuck on the tip of her nose and..." He tailed off lamely, looking embarrassed.

Hermione smiled at the image and Ron's obvious preoccupation with the memory.

"Yes, the mistletoe berries make it into a thin jam..."

She took the bottle and scurried over to the ingredients cupboard. "This salve should draw out most of the excess liquid. We'll use their own method against them..."

Hermione busied herself while Ron looked on. Soon the jam was thickened enough to be made into a couple of poultices.

"That won't work," said Ron. "I won't be able to even pick them up." He took the dressings, face up, in his hand. "Maybe if I'm already carrying them like this when I drink the potion or quickly after before it takes effect... yes, that should do it."

He closed them up and placed them carefully in his bag. His hand touched the vial of Living Death. "And what's this for?"

Hermione stiffened noticeably. "That's for ... when she starts screaming."

Quickly she added, "Which reminds me, come on, let's go up to see if my owl's returned yet."

.

Love Will Find a Way

They met Harry coming out of the owlery door.

"I... I wasn't sure whether..." He held out a small package and a sealed envelope "Farrimond came back with these for you Hermione. I wasn't sure whether to bring it to you erm... two or..." He glanced briefly at Ron.

"Thanks, Harry," said Hermione, taking them and, with Harry following hesitantly, walked briskly to one of the ever-open windows. "Are you there, Aculus?"

"So, is that...?" said Harry, pointing at the slim packet.

"Private. Sorry, Harry."

The flutter of invisible wings reassured her that the raven was alighting on the sill, and she murmured something to him before noting the envelope was addressed to 'Rosie'. After carefully reading the message it contained, disappointment creased her brow, and she spoke softly to Aculus once more.

Harry's receding voice mumbled quietly to her from behind. "R–Right then. Right. I'll be uuh... going then..."

He sounded so dismal as he edged uncertainly towards the door, that Hermione turned and rushed to him, acutely aware that being fixated on Padma's plight had obscured from her the depth of Harry's hurt feelings. The girl's extended hug took him by surprise. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I need you desperately. Just not possible this trip, okay?"

The warm softness of her body against his dispelled the doubts he'd suffered and lifted up his poor heart; the first true kiss she offered caused his spirits to soar.

"Trust me?" she said, when their lips finally parted.

Dazed, Harry could only murmur, "All–always..."

"Oy," smirked Ron. "Am I, like, going to face deathly horrors on my own or what?"

"Summon two brooms, Ron," laughed Hermione as she hustled Harry out through the doorway and closed the door on him with a wink and a whispered "Talk later..."

Ron strode to the window and raised his wand. Frowned. "Uuh... how am I supposed to unlock from here?"

He turned when Hermione didn't answer. Her ear was pressed to the door listening to Harry's footsteps skipping downstairs. Satisfied, she came back to Ron. "You didn't really think I was going to ride a broomstick all the way to London, did you?"

"But..."

She seized his arm tightly, pulling him in, and, as they vanished through the wall, murmured, "I just didn't want Harry to see us this close."

.

The Loophole

"What is this place?" whispered Ron after they rematerialised.

"An interior decorator's shop in Knockturn Alley – but I'm fairly certain it's just a front for Black Arc covert exchanges.

"And this is where Macnair hangs out?" snarled Ron. "The one who gutted Charlie?"

"No. I received a – here, you may as well read it." She handed him the message that Harry had given her.

" _Rosie?_ That's you? _Macnair's address with Ministry false. Just one-room flat. Doesn't live there nor even go there. That's why we've not been able to disappear him quietly so far._ Signed _B?_ Who's B?"

"Your next Minister for Magic hopefully," replied Hermione, watching Ron's face, but he was only half listening.

"So now we don't even know where he is!" Ron raised his voice in agitation, gripping the hilt of the Zabini knife. "But I wanna–!"

"–Steady, remember he never got to Charlie in this lifetime, and if we do our job right, he never will. This is a rescue not an assassination, but he will pay the price for his savagery."

"But we'll get him tonight?" Ron strode to the window and looked out.

"Yes, if Fate permits."

She turned her head to the bird on her shoulder. "Aculus, you stay with Ron." The raven flew dutifully over to the boy.

Ron cried, "Eh? you're leaving me here? Where you going, Hermione?"

She strode through into the backroom and approached the fireplace there with Ron hurrying after her.

"This is Floo-connected but it's rarely active. I'm hoping Macnair was the last to use it to send the skin to an anonymous Black Arc cell just before Easter. From there it would be sent to Malfoy Manor, then by their eagle owl to Draco."

"Cripes! They really don't want anyone to trace them, do they! They've covered every loophole, every trace."

"Except they don't know I am aware of _this_ place. Also, for Macnair to have left no trace, he should have walked here, sent the package, then walked away, but I know him, and I bet he didn't. Deep down he's a lazy, arrogant, worthless dung heap and a spineless yellow-belly when he's alone or feels threatened. He compensates for and satiates his cowardice by first dominating, humiliating, and tormenting helpless captives before killing them. Knockturn Alley at night? I think he'd take the easy way and simply Floo home from here."

"But what use is that to us? You can't tell where this Floo last went without a special spell and Dad told me that an Auror has to also cast the spell at the Ministry's master Floo _sinker riskily."_

"Synchronistically," smiled Hermione. "You're right, Ron. That's where I'll be while you cast the spell here."

Ron spluttered, "Me! But I can't–"

"–I'll show you the spell, Ron."

"You know it? And where the Master Floo Registry is? How do you know all this stuff? Don't tell me you were an Auror?"

"No, Ron, _you_ were – and a good one too. It was _you_ that told me how Aurors work and _you_ that taught me the spell. Now it's my chance to return the favour."

Ron took several deep breaths and blew them out slowly one by one. He'd needed to absorb a great deal this evening, but now he stood a little straighter. "Then let's do it!"

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Late posting – so much for my 10.5-day plan which lasted about 10.5 minutes. Also left this chapter cliff-hanging a bit but if I'd continued then it would have been another week or two before posting._

 _20 House points to DarkHeart81, Dr Stranger, and alyjay3 for working out it was Padma._

 _Thanks, Captain Shoulah, for pointing out my error in the last chapter. I've now changed 'extract revenge' to 'get revenge'. It should have been 'exact' not 'extract' but after thinking about it, I prefer the more common word: 'get'. Now fixed._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	63. 2:Death And Life

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight Ministry corruption and Black Arc members, and Crest defensive training at Hogwarts where she is now in her second year. Hermione and Ron have set out to rescue Padma who is the captive of the butcher Macnair. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 63**

 **Death And Life**

* * *

.

Incident at Interiartcraft

By anyone's standards, the Floo path detection spell was simple – intentionally so – and Ron cast it on first attempt after careful instruction from Hermione. The difficulty, they knew, would be for them both to cast the charm at the same exact time, but in different locations: Ron here at the Arcanist-run decorators' shop in Knockturn Alley, and Hermione at the Ministry Floo Registry.

"Aculus, your part is to summon me as Ron is about to cast the spell. As I feel that inner pull, I will perform the same spell on the Master Floo at the Ministry."

Ron shook his head. "There'll be staff working nearby even this late, Hermione – Aurors and such."

"And I'll be immaterial and invisible."

"They'll hear Macnair's voice echo the location."

"The slime-ball is soft-spoken." She shuddered at the memory of how he taunted Charlie while he died. "Anyway, I'll cast a local muffling charm first. Unless someone is standing right near the fire they won't notice amidst the general background noise."

He nodded, then silently went through the ritual one more time to reassure himself.

Hermione smiled. "You'll be fine, Ron."

"It's not me we have to worry about. I just don't want to mess up while you take all the risks for nothing."

A handheld torch passed by in the street, but, through the high, tinted windows, its flickering light only faintly illuminated the beamed ceiling. Ron's eyes swept around the almost empty chamber. Dark, wood-panelled walls and polished boards underfoot were relieved by only a single table against the wall opposite the mantel. "And they pass this off as an interior decorator for the posh?" he scoffed.

" _INTERIARTCRAFT_ it says on the door, _by appointment only_ – yet no obvious way to make one. Ron, this is Knockturn Alley, nobody cares." Hermione glanced at her watch. "I'd better rush. Midnight close as possible, remember?"

"Yep." For want of a chair, he crossed the room and launched his backside onto the table; the sturdy wooden legs didn't even creak. Aculus fluttered his wings but remained perched securely on Ron's left shoulder. Hermione was gone when they looked across.

Ron remained silent, wondering how one is supposed to have a sensible conversation with a little bird. His wristwatch told him they had ten minutes to kill. Then nine...

The whispered warning from Aculus was not needed; Ron had heard the soft pops of Apparition in the front shop and slid down onto the floor, wand out and eyes widening with fear. He could dash into the Floo but that would destroy any hope of discovering Macnair's address.

Light burst in. "IT'S JUST A KID! how'd you–?"

The wizard's eyes darted up to the locked window. Ron's instinctive Reductor curse smashed the man's wand arm, spinning down the light midst splinters of bone, but the resulting scream of pain masked a disarming spell that flung Ron's wand across the floor and brought him down to his knees. A witch stepped into the eery, upward light, staring at the boy. "A Weasley? Here?"

"Adney..." groaned the man.

"Shut up a minute, can't you?"

She strode directly to Ron, her wand aimed right down between his eyes, rage in her own and another, more deadly, curse on her lips. Ron spluttered some words, fumbled for the Zabini knife, lost it. Yet the blade swerved up into the thigh of the witch and her intended curse ended in a shriek of pain and fury. Ron headbutted her stomach and leapt up at her, fists lashing out, thinking of Charlie. "Oooofff!" Invisible beak and talons tore at her eyes, spraying blood over Ron's hair. Without air, down she silently stumbled, staggered, fell, clutching at her face. Wafting wings flew Ron's wand back to his hand. He rose up numbly, pointing it with a shaking hand at the two intruders; one writhing and squealing breathlessly on the floor beside the lighted wand, the other staring dumb-struck, clutching his shattered arm, seemingly unaware that the wand was not far off amidst small spattered chunks of his forearm.

"Back off!" howled Ron frenziedly, but Hermione's incessant training voice shouted in his head: _Don't talk! Don't wait! Act!_

"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!" Ron was crying and snivelling at the end, shocked by what he'd done, and how easily they might have died instead of simply crumpling.

"That's more than enough," murmured Aculus, visible once more.

The sound made Ron whip around. "Aaaagh!" In a panic, he struggled to read the dial on his watch, blood filling one eye, tears in the other.

"There's time. Clean yourself," said the raven.

"Yeah..." Ron pulled out a soiled hankie and began mopping his eyes as he danced in a panic towards the fireplace.

"A spell?" suggested the bird.

"Oh, yeah..."

Water sploshed from Ron's wand. Messy, but it helped. He blinked at his watch. Tapped it. "Can't be..." Less than sixty seconds had passed.

He looked back at the fallen. "Could there be more of them?"

"I wouldn't know," said Aculus. "Better be ready."

Ron couldn't bear to pull the knife from the woman's leg, but took their wands, astonished at how different were the results of the Reductor curse on living flesh compared with test dummies, then extinguished the light. He tried to compose himself but couldn't sit down, choosing instead to stand near the fireplace, sharing his attention between wristwatch, doorway, and bodies.

"They won't stir much before Christmas after what you poured into them," said the raven.

"No..."

The lower part of his thumb began to ache a little from when his wand had been twisted away. He massaged it clumsily but didn't put away the wand.

"Four minutes..." he murmured.

Thoughts of the action in which he'd just been involved were spiralling around in his head. "Uumm... Aculus, about... what you did... Erm... thanks."

"I serve my mistress's plans... and her friends."

Three minutes...

As the hour approached, Aculus cautioned, "Better prepare."

Mind still racing, Ron braced himself, wand pointing at the hearth.

The bird cocked his head on one side. "Floo powder?"

"Oh, yeah..." Ron scooped up a handful from the tub beside the fireplace. A cloud of it fluttered down from his fist as he bunched it over to check the wristwatch once more. "Ten seconds..."

Aculus could see his lips counting down.

" _INDICALOCUS!_ Aaghh!" He suddenly remembered to throw the powder – much of it remaining stuck to his clammy hand – then repeated more carefully, " _Indicalocus!"_

Green flames flared up briefly, then all was dark again.

Waiting for Hermione was worse than waiting to cast the spell had been.

"I mistimed it, didn't I?"

"I summoned Mistress twice. She'd have cast the spell again at her end."

"Think she's okay?"

Aculus remained silent.

Ron looked gloomily over the two figures on the floor. "She'll be furious at me when she sees this."

As the minutes ticked by he tried to bring to mind all the many instructions she'd given her friends during training. "I should search them, you think? For other wands and stuff?" He waited a few moments but heard no reply. "Yeah, I should..."

The wizard, he searched first, running his hands thoroughly over the body, arms and legs just like he'd been instructed, searching for hidden pockets or any bulge that might conceal something important. All that he found of interest was an ornate stabbing implement that might have belonged to any decorator for all he knew. After a while he decided it was a tobacco pipe reamer of unusual design.

Reluctantly, he turned to the woman. Her torn features were hard but under the robes the body was soft and slim except for a bulging blouse which he carefully avoided to concentrate on sides, arms, and back. A hip bag contained only cosmetic appliances, hair comb, and other knick-knacks, as well as a few Galleons in a little money purse. There'd been no identification on either of them.

A gasp of surprise behind him caused Ron to leap to his feet and spin round.

"Sheesh, Ron, you alright? My God! What happened?" Hermione was reaching to touch the side of his wet, bloody head.

"It's not my blood." He pointed at the woman's face.

Hermione strode forward, paused to scan the bodies with her wand, then moved into the shop but came quickly back when she was satisfied nobody else was in the building. "My Goodness, Ron, you did this?"

"Well, Aculus..."

"Anything on them?"

"Just these..." He held out the man's spike tool and the woman's bag. "Nothing of special interest far as I can see."

"And you searched them thoroughly how I've shown you?"

"Yeah, sure... well..."

"The woman?" Hermione slowly shook her head at his silence. "Ron, your life might depend on it. Mine too."

"I did take her shoes off but her legs are bare and there's that..." He grimaced at the knife still embedded in the woman's thigh. "Sorry..."

"Don't be. She might have bled to death if you'd pulled it out." Hermione summoned the blade, then, as blood began to flow copiously, she quickly cauterised the wound with a singeing charm. "Now just run your hands over her legs to make sure there's no fakery or stick-on stuff."

Ron crouched down again and smoothed his hands up on either side quickly, his face reddening.

"Right to the top. Properly, Ron, like you've all been shown."

"She's not a test dummy, Hermione!" The boy was breathing heavily as his hand ran around the woman's thighs. "Is this really necessary?"

"You looked inside her blouse?"

"Hermione!"

"Ron, didn't it occur to you that she's abnormally large compared to the rest of her figure? What does that suggest?"

He didn't answer, but squatted there unmoving.

"Ron, I know it's difficult, but–"

"Okay, okay!"

The garment was cut in a Victorian style and the buttons were many. Ron's hands were unsteady by the time he reached the top and exposed a generous cleavage held by a tightly-laced, silk half-camisole. "There! Happy now?"

"No. Do they feel normal?"

"How am I supposed to know what they–!"

"–Use your common sense, Ron! Do you want her to pull out a demi-wand when your back is turned? Want her to blast a hole in my face so you can learn the hard way like I had to?"

Face scarlet, he sighed and reached forward and began to roughly feel around the witch's bosom. "There is... there is something..."

"What? Careful. Perhaps I'd better..."

"No, a rustling sound... like parchment."

"Get it out."

"How am I supposed to–?"

"–the central laces, Ron."

"Oh, Merlin..."

One pull was enough, then he parted the garment easily and crouched there motionless, staring, holding his breath.

Hermione said, "Engorgement charm – I knew it. They don't hang naturally. I read about it in a Witch's Weekly omnibus edition. It's a combination of special types of hover and extender spells. Totally false-looking if you ask me."

Ron didn't move.

"Well? Seen enough?" sighed Hermione. "Where's the document? Pull it out"

"I..." breathed Ron.

"What? Can't you move?"

"Uuh..."

"Oh, for Goodness' sake, Ron! What's got into you?"

"Don't see how to reach... without..."

"Honestly..." Hermione let out a long sigh. "Just hold it aside. They won't bite you."

Closing his eyes tightly, he did as she bid then thrust his other hand down the gap between her side and left arm, bunching up the loosened camisole. "Inside a sort of... stitched hem thing in the..."

"Work it out with your fingertips."

"I _am_ doing, Hermione!" groaned Ron.

Sweating profusely now, he had to fumble for several minutes. "Got it!"

With triumphant relief, he held it up twixt thumb and forefinger from where Hermione snatched it and moved to the least gloomy area of the chamber near the window above.

The scrawl was tiny, smudged and very difficult to read; Hermione visualised the possibilities: _shifts 3-8 or 9? then 9-3 alt. weeks Feb to Apr or Aug? Report best something... more? best... more what? Or one word?_

"Ron, what word begins with best and ends with–"

"–This is all wrong, Hermione."

She could see he'd carefully buttoned up the woman's clothing again but was still crouched over her, looking guilty.

"I know it is, Ron. I'm sorry. We're often faced with a choice of evils. I want you to know that your mum..." She tailed off and turned away. "Sorry."

Ron was on his feet now. "What about her? What about my mum, Hermione?"

She shook her head but told him anyway. "Four of us. We'd stunned and killed several Death Eaters. I was embarrassed in front of the others about searching one of the wizards who was particularly... big and... hairy..."

"What about my mum, Hermione!"

"I thought it unlikely he'd have anything on him that mattered – mostly they don't. I faked it, made out I'd done a thorough job. "

"And...?"

"Your mother and father needed to question the foul wizard. Your dad Enervated him..." There were tears in Hermione's eyes when she raised her head to continue. "He had a runic cord concealed in his pants – just a one-shot. He cursed your mother, Ron, cursed her bad. Took her days to die. ... Ron, I'm sorry..."

He stared at her. "Did you... make him pay?"

"Your dad separated him."

"From what?"

"I meant into several parts."

"NO! Not Dad! He wouldn't–"

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'D DO! Your father was – is – ferociously in love with your mother. The Death Eater was taunting her as she was consumed by the curse. Your dad was already broken anyway. This was after Charlie. And Percy. And..." Hermione paused. "Was your father wrong? Probably. But there was no reliable Ministry to properly deal with dark wizards. No justice there. He couldn't release the man. Unthinkable." She cleansed the Zabini knife and handed it back to Ron. "Sometimes it's not simply a choice of right from wrong but wrong from worse."

After staring for a few moments at the two on the floor, Hermione asked, "Did they say anything, do you remember?"

"Said it's just a kid – that one." Ron pointed at the man. "Didn't take me seriously enough so I had time to smash his arm."

"Those were his words? 'It's just a kid'? Not 'There's a kid here?' So this wasn't chance; they were expecting to find an intruder. We must have triggered an alarm. Drat! I did check everything was clear, but that was years ago. ... I should have tested again." She sighed and glanced again at the parchment. "These are probably the shifts they work on watch duty. Did they use any names?"

"Uumm... he called her Aggie – no, Addy or Adney."

"Wigget Adney – a former low level Death Eater in my time. Never met her and don't know anything about her except I don't think she ever carried the mark." She frowned at the wizard on the floor. "Don't recognise his face at all."

"What do we do?" said Ron, morosely.

"We're in a fix – can't leave them nor can we take them with us to Macnair's."

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I messed up – should have been more alert."

Hermione turned to her friend. "Sorry? Sorry, you say? Ron, you behaved wonderfully – amazingly! You downed two Arcanists, and did it brilliantly by the looks of things."

"Me? Knee-jerk responses and just got lucky. Aculus saved me else I'd have–"

The raven shrilled softly as it flew to Hermione's shoulder. "I merely distracted one of them – unnecessarily as it turned out – and retrieved your wand for you."

"Developing the instinctive responses is what our training was for, Ron," said Hermione. "You deserve a medal. As it is, you can't tell anyone – you know that, don't you?"

"No way I would! Mum'd kill me if she knew!"

Hermione looked from bodies to Floo then back to the bodies. "I have an idea..." She used the Floo to contact Barty Crouch then poked her head through the flames.

"Rosie! You're early!" said Crouch. "I'm ready for you though."

"Something came up first, Barty. I have two stunned and injured Arcanists for trial. Can I push them through and we'll deal with them when I get Macnair?"

Crouch took a deep breath and Hermione saw him casting a locking charm on his study door. "Do it."

Hermione backed out of the fire, then banished the two bodies through before thanking Crouch. "The woman is Wigget Adney but I don't know the other."

"I'll give them Living Death till we can process them," said Crouch. "Have you located Macnair yet?"

"Only his Floo address. I'm going there now."

Crouch growled inwardly. "Floos can be trapped. Be careful, Rosie."

"I will."

She pulled out of the flames and she and Ron thoroughly cleaned up the blood and gore, then, as they both stood in the hearth, Hermione conjured a light mist of house dust to settle on where they'd been.

Satisfied there were no obvious signs of anyone having been present, she said, "Ron, you must follow me without delay, keep low, wand out. I have to be solid to use the Floo but I'll be invisible, so remain silent and trust that I'm right before you. The destination's _Homeward Bound_ would you believe! So friendly and normal. I suppose it was stupid to have expected something horrible like–" She looked him over; his lips were clamped stiffly and the boy was visibly agitated. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Will you be alright?"

Ron did his best to appear in control of himself, even forcing a tight smile. "Huh? Sure. Sure I will."

"Remember, we must..." A puzzled frown touched her forehead and she dug into her bag to examine her planner and pull out the packet that Farrimond had returned to Harry.

"Take this, Ron."

"Who's it for?"

"Uumm... Modesty. Er... yes, Modesty and Sue... Thing. Remember that."

Fondly, she stroked the feathers of the raven. "Aculus, you stick with Ron."

With that, Hermione was gone in the flames.

Slightly reassured now the raven was gripping his shoulder like an extended hand of Hermione, Ron cast Floo powder and with wand pointing forward, crouched down into the green flames whispering hoarsely as he did so, " _Home Wood Bound,"_

A moment later the shop in Knockturn was empty once more save for the silent cloud of Floo powder slowly descending onto the hearth.

.

Death of a Great Witch

The gloomy outline of household paraphernalia stacked and wedged between dust-sheeted furniture caused Ron to squint and frown as he moved very cautiously out of the fireplace on his arrival. He ached to call out to Hermione but forced himself to remain silent and watchful.

The faint whisper in his ear startled him. "Mistress is not here."

"What?" Ron's murmur trembled a little, and he reached out, probing the air before him with his free left hand. "Hermione?" he said softly.

"We are not where she is. I sense dread peril has befallen her. How can we not be at the same place? Speak quickly! What happens if a wizard declares a Floo location incorrectly?"

Ron rose and stepped anxiously forward, picking his way around a low table and other clutter. "I didn't. I said it exactly the same as Hermione did. ... That is, I'm sure I... I think I did."

"This is not a lived-in home," said the raven, who had flown up to a grime-soiled window set in a wall of stout wooden timbers. "It is, perhaps, an outhouse. Are we even in the same town? The same country?"

Ron joined him to stare out at an overgrown garden full of weeds and tangles of wild trees untrimmed and uncared for. "We must be close. If anyone says the address a bit wrong then the Floo just sends them to the uumm... nearest to erm... what sounds uuh... nearest."

"Then we may be in a garden, and that house yonder may be where my Mistress currently is. Let me out that I might locate her."

Ron tore his gaze from the dark silhouette of the building obscured by the rampant foliage and stumbled around, trying to find a door. Reluctant to light his wand, he felt along the first wall he bumped into then, his hand falling upon a latch, he tilted and pulled.

"Can't see a damned thing!"

He took a couple of steps forward into utter blackness. "I'll have to risk it..." He cast the smallest light he could, then blinked at the wooden corridor in which he found himself. Four heavy iron doors hung high along its windowless length; greased levers and chains appeared to be the means to slide them down sturdy metal guide rails. At the end was a simple wooden door.

"A bolt hole!" cried the astute raven. "Keep your wand prepared, young Weasley! If the villain were to run, I believe he will rush in at the far end, striking the levers as he passes and causing the iron doors to fall behind him, thus cutting off pursuit while he reaches this alternate Floo escape – the one in which we arrived!"

Aghast, Ron pointed his wand down the tunnel. "What if Hermione's close behind him with one of those dropping on her head!"

He dashed forward, oblivious of any danger to himself, with Aculus flying after him. The wooden door burst inward as he reached it, hitting him aside, but not before he'd sent a curse into the night.

"No one there..." said Ron, rubbing his forehead. "Must be charmed for when he's in a hurry. Come on!"

But Aculus had sank to the weedy turf beyond the threshold, his unfurled wings spread limply aside.

Ron skidded to a halt and twisted around. "Come on! What is it?" He stepped back, fearing the bird had succumbed to a hidden trap meant for himself. Gently, he lifted up the raven and cradled it to his chest

"I fear... that is, I know... we are too late," said the raven in a manner so wretched that Ron gasped.

"No, you're wrong! Not Hermione..." He gaped at the bird disbelievingly, then turned about and sprinted away.

The rough path was narrow and twisted savagely about through trees, posts, and tall shrubs – grievously so for one in a hurry, and if Ron could have torn out the imaginings in his head of a manic, razor-wielding wizard gloating over the body of a helplessly petrified Hermione, then he'd have recognised that the route he ran was a blocking shield for friend and foe alike.

And so he arrived at the house unobserved and crouch-clambered up a filth midden sloping up to what he supposed to be the kitchen window with its low slanting roof and stove chimney. Only glimmers of light escaped its dingy panes. Cautiously he peered in.

Hermione hung out from the fireplace transfixed, crucified by several long spits of sooted iron. Every limb was pierced right through, and so was her body. A single vertical spike raked up by her neck and jaw, holding her tortured features almost erect. Though her eyes remained open, they stared blindly, nor did she cry out.

"Must need her dying wish," sighed the raven. "Take me hence."

But Ron's shocked face had turned to a menacing figure crossing the kitchen from the right, and brandishing what appeared to be a carving knife.

"MACNAIR!" screamed Ron, and hurled himself through the glass, a blasting curse on his lips. The force of the spell hit the dark wizard's left side only moments before the boy crashed into him. Down they both went, Macnair squealing with surprise, Ron on top shrieking only his worst magic as both fists flailed wildly at the man's face and his wand jabbed an eye. The sound of bone snapping caused Ron to back off and rise up, his wand firmly pointing at the wizard howling beneath him.

"Ron..." The murmur came from his left. His head started to turn. Macnair's blade was feebly rising... _NEVER take your eyes off the enemy_ – Hermione's instructor voice in Ron's head. One stride and Ron's foot stamped down furiously on the man's hand, again and again, until the fingers were surely smashed. He kicked away the knife and ran to Hermione.

"Wand..." she breathed, and her eyes flicked towards Macnair.

Horrified, Ron spun about and sent another blasting curse at the man on the floor, sending him crashing and crumpling against the far wall where he lay still, one hand still within a pocket of his robes.

"WHY DON'T YOU JUST DIE!" yelled Ron, as he retrieved and broke the wizard's wand.

Back he dashed. "Hermione! Hold on! How... how do I get you out of..." He gaped to one side of the chimney breast where a vertical capstan was set connected to a heavy anvil hung from a chain. He thrust his wand into a pocket and lunged for the capstan, putting all his weight onto it.

"No, young Weasley, do you wish to watch my mistress lose her lifeblood more quickly?"

The raven had limped and fluttered weakly to Hermione. She appeared lifeless, but a low moan and an inaudible whisper drew Ron to kneel with an ear turned to catch her words.

"Tell ... Harry ... ... I did love him... I do..."

The final breath was not enough for her to finish. ... There was no movement. ... She did not sag nor did her eyes close, but Ron knew Hermione was really dead. Perhaps time ended ... and possibly the Earth had stopped turning. ... For many minutes he stared numbly at his friend – she made still by death, he frozen in heart and soul – then, at the faint sound of her killer – conscious now and trying to crawl – a terrible fury arose within Ron Weasley. He turned. And saw. Despite a fractured limb, and squinting through a swollen eye, Macnair was leering triumphantly at him. In his left hand he clutched another wand. It was pointing directly at Ron.

Swift as Ron was to draw his own wand, fleet as he was to sidestep and dive, he knew the green radiance flaring towards him was his own death – sure as day would follow night without him. There was an explosion of feathers in the air shocking both man and boy. Aculus was no more. Ron, pointing his own wand, stared venom and hatred at Macnair, daring him, willing him to make a move. Wide-eyed with fright, the wizard gawped back for a moment at the certainty of Ron's intent, then, whimpering, he dropped his wand. "Don't hurt me..."

Ron blasted the wood to splinters then felt the Zabini knife in his grip before striding purposefully to the terrified Arcanist. Forward plunged the blade into the butcher's black heart straight and true. "For Hermione," snarled Ron.

.

Ron's Ordeal

Unable to turn, Ron stood emptied and in shock for a long minute before he began to cry. When eventually he did return to Hermione's corpse he was shuddering with emotion. "I'll t–tell him, Hermione. I'll tell Harry, I promise."

Despairingly he examined the sharp lances that skewered his friend like a common fly in the corner of a wire web, then he put his shoulder to the capstan. Slowly, the greased iron chain wound the anvil higher, a lock latch clicking metallically in each cog. He dare not look behind him but when he heard Hermione's body slump to the ground, he knew the spikes had withdrawn below the hearth. Gradually, with a huge effort of will, he turned...

So much blood. It pooled darkly about her soaked robes. Her features were ivory and the lips were losing colour too. He stooped, stroked one cheek of the familiar but contorted face, then, sniffling and blubbering, knelt before her and wrapped one cold hand in both of his. "S–should've been m–me. Wish... wish I'd gone f–first."

For several minutes he remained silent, begging Something Higher to exchange his life for hers and wanting – oh how he desired to say a prayer for her departing spirit, yet he knew not one! That thought of her soul's flight drove home to him her complete and everlasting absence and how reliant he and his friends had been on the girl. "What do we do without you, Hermione? How can we possibly go on? How can I...?"

Ron let go her hand and stood up, vividly aware of his own plight. He'd murdered a Ministry employee in cold blood. The man had thrown down his wand. _Was this how Dad felt when he killed the Death Eater who cursed Mum?_ Hermione had explained there'd been no other justice available; was now any different?

He forced himself to look over towards his victim, half-wishing he wasn't dead. But then what? Where would...? _Forget that! What about now!_

What was he to do? Where to go? He couldn't leave Hermione, nor could he stay. He could never face his family and friends ever again. How to explain what happened? How to tell Harry? _Oh, Merlin..._ He closed his eyes tight as he recalled Olive's reaction to Hermione's killing curse in the Forest, and knew then her friendship was lost to him forever. Ron was in the very worst fix of his life and he knew it.

"I wish we'd never come here just to...!" His cry left him baffled and sick with worry. _What had been the point! Why had Hermione brought him here?_ It had all been for nothing!

She'd told him nothing. Given him nothing – no, wait... He reached for his bag then cursed when his fingers smeared Hermione's blood upon it. He rolled his sleeves high up his arms then washed at the kitchen sink before returning to his bag to retrieve the potion bottles. He pulled one out. _The Draught of Living Death!_ Why would she expect him to drink that? Frantically he scrabbled further, found the other potions, poultices and packet, and a faint tendril of memory touched his thoughts: _Someone needs these..._

The packet she'd given him was marked only 'For Miss Hermione Granger' but there was a discreet Z motif in one corner. Cautiously, he opened it. "What th–?"

Ron had pulled out pale gossamer so light and silky-smooth he seemed to be juggling vapour. Indeed, the delicate yellow fabric almost slipped from his grasp until he recognised it as a splendid witch's robe and both arms of the garment he slid over one of his – then swung it round his neck. Held there, it cascaded down almost to his shoes, for the inner lining was completely frictionless and intangible.

The garment was familiar: the angel had worn something like this when she visited him in Hogwarts' hospital wing, he remembered. What was her name? Imogene? Was she the one in trouble? Surely they'd not come here simply to return her...

Captive! Imogene must be captive here!

Out came his wand and he glared over towards Macnair's lifeless body. His eyes settled on Hermione's knife still embedded in the man's chest. With fierce determination, he went over, gripped the hilt, then looked away as he yanked upwards. The blade came out quite smoothly, and after cleansing it with his wand, he reattached it to his belt, then set off in search of Imogene.

.

The Thing in the Attic

Macnair's house was not large, and the only locked door Ron found led down to a dingy basement. A second, unlocked door at the foot of the stairs looked much more rugged than the one above, but like the chains and mechanisms that Macnair seemed so fond of oiling, this door, and its hinges, must have been expertly hung and maintained, for, despite its thickness, the door swung silently open at the touch of his fingers...

Within, a small spider ran across the low ceiling to escape the young wizard's wand light. The boy shuddered, but, apart from that creepy-crawly, there was no other movement. The chamber was empty save for a broken chair, a brick chute grimy from its residue of old coal, and a great heap of chopped logs in which was embedded an axe with a long polished handle and a gleaming, polished blade. He shivered again. Macnair's priorities were evident.

He clambered up the sloping trough, slipping and skidding and crunching on the sparkling black dust, then forced open the hatch and clambered out. Clearly no room in the house was secure enough to confine a witch of Imogene's abilities, so he hurried around the extensive garden searching for outbuildings. The outhouse he already knew could never imprison anyone so long as there was Floo powder. Where then? No other large structure was evident.

Disappointed, he began slowly walking back to the house. What would Hermione have done? _Work it out, Ron,_ said the girl's bossy, tutorial voice in his head. _You can only work with what you're given._

He studied the filmy saffron robe wafting aside in the lightly-moving air. Perhaps if he waved the colourful fabric aloft then Imogene might see it from the window of a hidden room! But the potions... He sighed. He already knew one of them was the potion that would render anyone unnoticed. He slapped his head in disgust, remembering it was for himself, and the poultices were the antidotes. Imogene must, therefore, already be under the influence and needed...

Abruptly, he stopped in mid-step on the path. Imogene couldn't be unnoticeable else he wouldn't even remember her. Who then? And how was he to...? A long low growl of annoyance rumbled in his throat. Obviously he must drink the potion then he would be able to find her – or him, whichever they might be.

First, Ron went around the entire house making sure all the doors were left wide open before preparing himself. Even so, he spent a lot of time pondering that he'd only have one chance at this. He stared at the items Hermione had entrusted to his care, worked it out in his head then, grimacing, he swallowed the potion before quickly taking up the folded poultices in one hand.

He did not have long to wait. In less than a minute he could no longer elbow the nearest door, even his kick simply skidded off. Satisfied, he headed upstairs.

His new search began in the bedrooms and then the attic. As before, the loft space was cluttered with household junk, old furniture and a couple of suitcases. A Gladstone bag stood on a low cabinet beside which was a large travel chest. Ron tried to imagine a young Macnair lugging it to Hogwarts. He stared at it. The twins had locked Ron in a similar trunk belonging to Charlie the summer before his brother started at the school. He'd cried for what seemed like hours but in retrospect had only been ten minutes before they let him out. Was there a boy curled up in this one right before him!

"Hello!" He felt a fool but had to try. "Anyone in there? I've come to... I'm here to help you."

He listened but the only sound was the breeze soughing through a broken slate. Suddenly he knew; he just knew someone was trapped, petrified or stunned within the chest. Frantically he scrabbled and clawed at the latch. Whether it was locked or not he could not tell, for his hands, of course, slipped over the clasp so easily that it made no difference.

"I'll help you, I promise! I won't leave you!"

How many hours – even days! – had the lad been trapped within, terrified and alone? Help! He had to get help no matter what the cost!

But naturally, he couldn't. There was no help. No one would be able to see or hear him, and if he used a counter-potion poultice on himself then he would forget about the chest.

He sat in the dust. There in a dead man's attic he sat on the floor and struggled within himself. _What would Hermione do?_ She'd written notes to herself! Could he do that? What if he set a poultice on his arm, wrote a note as soon as he was able, kept it in hand...? How far could he get? And at what risk? No, he'd promised the boy he wouldn't leave him. Ron knew the terror of being utterly confined for a few minutes. What must the child be feeling after many days! No, he must smash open the chest here and now. But how? With what?

Hadn't he seen an axe in the cellar? That was it! Take himself down there. Use the poultice. Write a big note and never put it down. Get the axe. Run upstairs again. Smash open the lock then... and then he remembered he had no second potion. All he could do was open the chest and hope the boy would gain some comfort while he fetched help. Perhaps he might climb out? Ron would not be able to tell. But he could place the other poultice in plain sight along with another big note instructing the child how to apply it!

Down the steps sprinted Ron. The cold dead stone in his heart partly obscured now by tense action and eager hope – even if it was only the chance he might complete Hermione's mission for her! Hermione!

Eyes misting with tears again, he slowed to a stop on the bottom step, feeling guilty at the slight elevation of his mood, and sniffling wetly for a while. A cobweb fluttered on the stair wall and in the air was a foul odour he'd not noticed before, reminding him of a dead rat he'd once tumbled upon at the bottom of the Weasley's garden while still quite young. He shuddered at the bizarre thought of Macnair's rotting cadaver, eyes gleaming manically, carving knife in hand, staggering down the dark stairs behind him, seeking retribution – his pound of flesh! A shiver went up Ron's spine and, screwing up his courage, he stepped forward to open the final door...

The basement door closed? He knew he'd opened it. Closed again? How? By whom? Was Macnair's half-living corpse yet lying in wait beyond it? And what was he to–?

–No, the door was only _almost_ closed and the wafting slide of the gossamer across his shoulder together with the fluttering cobweb above told him even a light draught could have blown the sturdy, free-swinging door from its open position.

However, whereas on his first visit, a single finger had been enough to push the door open, now, all the heaving, slipping, and sliding of his best shoulder scarcely moved it. Yes, the tiny gap _might_ have increased a fraction of an inch after many minutes of his attempted bumping and pushing and skidding – but could he be sure? After a long while of striving then peering through the crack, he imagined he saw a tiny thread of... starlight?

The coal hatch! He'd left the hatch open! That's where the draught had come from and that was his way in!

His long legs carried him up to the ground floor once more only to curse himself for not opening the exterior doors, neither front or back! If he'd expected sympathy, then the low moan of despair he uttered was wasted; as far as the world knew, he no longer existed. Right now, everyone at school all his friends and family – none of them remembered him, not even Olive.

A great temptation came to him then. Awful though his condition of non-interaction was, it was far better than Azkaban, and infinitely superior to his imagined accusation from a shocked, finger-pointing Olive: "Villain! Murderer!"

Tentatively he walked towards the kitchen. If somehow he could return Hermione's body to her family – or at least a message – might he simply disappear from the world? For good?

Her lifeless form was even more disturbing on his return. Ron's initial terror and shock had been eroded somewhat by distractions. Now the reality was sinking in, and the boy felt ill. Crazy, confused thoughts filled his mind. What could he say to the Grangers? And Harry...?

He shook his head. This would never do. And yet... he might carry her poor body out through the window he'd blasted. How far might he walk with her in his arms? No – dragging her on the bloody hearthrug? What did it matter should it take months or years? He no longer had a real life. He... The window was smashed! Finally it had dawned on him.

Groaning at his own stupidity he leapt onto the draining board and out the broken window. Swiftly he raced around to the coal hatch and jumped in, knowing he could not hurt himself. There in the darkness! The gleam of the axe blade! It was his for the taking!

But first the poultice. _And remember the note to yourself, Ron!_ cautioned the voice of Hermione in his head. _And instructions for the boy in the trunk! Don't forget: big, BIG notes!_

Mind whirling, he braced himself, wishing he had a light then remembering he could use his wand once he'd recovered from the potion, and slapping his forehead. "Dolt! Why would I need a ruddy axe to unlock the chest!"

Cautiously he probed one of the folded poultices, attempting to peel it open with his other hand, then winced. _Jam! It's as tacky as glue to me now! How can I...?_

He'd suck on it, he told himself. He'd sucked on food for hours in this condition before – he could do this! It simply needed lots of patience and time.

Squinting in the gloom, he walked across towards the broken chair, confident that, in his current state, it did not matter that it was cracked and twisted, as it could not give way beneath him even if he tried.

"T'uh!" In the dark, he'd bumped the side of his knee past a low shelf or something. It couldn't actually hurt him as he slid past, but it was annoying – and rather scary – to feel pushed aside unexpectedly in the black void, and the odour he'd smelt earlier was far stronger in this corner too, which didn't help his mood one bit. Ron wrinkled up his nose. Was Macnair using the coolness of this basement as a larder? Ron wondered then if he'd brushed by some over-hung pheasant."Wrong time of year," he grumbled loudly, for there was no way he might be overheard.

Weary now, he sat down, wondering how he'd not noticed the food on his previous visit and squinting back out of curiosity. Vaguely he discerned the outline of a half-collapsed iron bedstead standing against the wall, and strewn across its springs was not pheasant but what might be one or two legs of mutton or pork. Ron leaned forward for a closer look...

Wailing and recoiling in horror, the boy's head skidded along the wall behind him. Not pork, but surely human legs, red and scabby, lay there! How many dead had the butcher hidden around his property? Stomach churning, Ron forced himself to edge past, grateful now that the cellar was too dark to see any detail – and then... an arm was lolling out towards him with palm upturned and delicate fingers feathered past his knee.

His terrified scream led to Ron dry-heaving and staggering away, bent over and clutching his stomach. He'd faintly glimpsed a face now, and one glimpse had been enough. Soft brown eyes, half-closed and looking out from a pretty face framed by long dark hair: Padma Patil! All the memories were already there; he'd simply not been thinking of her until jolted by this revolting experience.

Gasping for enough air, Ron backed away to the coal chute where the fresh breeze was draughting down, and took several large breaths to compose himself.

"Padma?" He wasn't sure if she was dead or alive. "Padma, are you alright?" _Of course she's not! That's why you're here!_

Hesitantly, Ron inched forward, wishing he had a light. His eyes had adjusted somewhat but all he could discern was a pale impression of a naked form.

 _Modesty and... soothing,_ came a voice in his head – Hermione's.

Ron floated the delicate saffron robe over Padma then wrapped it around the girl best he could. Her body was warm which was encouraging, though the eyes stared lifelessly ahead.

"Padma, it's Ron – Ron Weasley. I think you're stunned, but if not, if you can hear me, I'm going to put a poultice on your arm so..." Ron hesitated, gently closing her eyes with the tip of his finger while he considered how to warn her about the agony she'd endure once the antidote had taken effect and before he could persuade her to drink the Living Death. "...then get you out of here," he finished lamely.

After puzzling how he could possibly open the poultice, he decided to suck on the other one himself until it began to counter the potion. He'd have to be quick then to apply the other to Padma before he no longer noticed her.

As he slowly consumed the antidote, Ron kept attempting to open up the other poultice, but it defied all his efforts. Only when he found himself wondering what he was doing and why, did it finally peel apart. He stared at it, vaguely aware of someone lying before him needing help. Without thinking, Ron stooped down and pressed the poultice on Padma's arm.

Puzzled, he wondered why he'd come down into the empty cellar again. He lit his wand and looked around then took up the axe and nodded to himself – but what next? Didn't he have to write a note to himself? A big, big note about something? Or was that for later? The chest in the attic!

After bounding to the door, Ron paused. Why had he used Hermione's poultice, and where had be put the other one? He glanced back to see if he'd dropped it. A figure in shimmering saffron lay upon an old iron bedstead and finally Ron understood and remembered everything.

Grateful that Padma remained unconscious and that he need not use the draught of Living Death for now, he threw down the axe, then gently lifted the girl and carried her upstairs to the kitchen Floo and laid her on the table.

Ron knew he was finished, in both senses of the word. He'd resigned himself to fate, disgrace, shame, and imprisonment. All he cared about now was to take Hermione and Padma to – where?

St. Mungo's was the obvious choice, though he didn't know if even they would be able to heal Padma's monumental injury, so extensive was the wound, but speed was essential to prevent further infection. The Aurors would be called and he would be interrogated and confess everything.

Ron was firm about one thing: he'd carry Hermione's body through last; there was no way he was going to push her through and leave her while her fetched the others. Then there was Aculus...

He found the dead bird bedraggled but intact on the kitchen floor. Ron found a lidless shoe box on a shelf, tipped out its contents of shoe brushes and polish, and, after placing the raven reverently within, laid the box beside Hermione so he could carry them together. It was fitting a witch remain with her familiar, and many were buried side by side.

Padma he could pass to someone at St. Mungo's and explain her condition. But first he had to attract attention, and no way better than by pushing Macnair through. Ron didn't care two hoots what became of him and 'dead' didn't need any detailed explaining on first delivery. He grabbed the corpse by the collar, dragged him across the floor, then, rather than move the foul wizard close by Hermione, he employed _Mobilicorpus_ to lift him above the hearth. There the man dangled upright like a macabre marionette, slowly rotating until his drooping head – still showing the same cowardly expression – came gradually around to face Ron as if in accusation.

"Ugh!" Ron's concentration failed and with it his hovering spell. Macnair fell like a rag doll. CLANG! Up shot the spikes which Ron had unintentionally reset when he wound up the anvil. The boy stared in horror. Macnair was grotesquely impaled by his own devilish device, and how was Ron to explain this?

Anxiety was curiously mixed with relief when it occurred to him that Macnair looked as if he'd just come through the Floo and triggered his own trap. In those few astonished seconds Ron came to a rapid decision. Leaving Macnair, he carried Padma and Aculus to the other Floo in the outbuilding, laying them down on the low table while he returned for Hermione's body. After careful casting of a cleaning charm to remove most of the blood, he gently lifted her and removed his friend from the awful scene of her macabre death and to the outhouse.

Finally, he returned to more thoroughly clean the kitchen and repair the window. How grateful he was now for all those training sessions from an early age with Hermione! Up in the attic he easily opened the chest with an unlocking charm, only to discover it was packed with nothing more sinister than commonplace blankets and sheets. He remembered to close all the doors then surveyed the kitchen once more. Nothing remained to indicate he and Hermione had ever been there.

 _But what now?_ he thought. How could he explain Hermione's and Padma's injuries to the authorities at St. Mungo's? There was no way of getting out of this blameless, but perhaps he might yet evade Azkaban. Ron trudged back up the path to the outhouse wondering, as ever, what Hermione would tell him to do. What had been her plan? Those owl messages had never been explained nor why Harry had been told to ask his parents if she could visit them that evening – did _they_ know something about this?

For the last time – Ron hoped – he walked under the deadly iron doors hanging above him in the outhouse corridor. He stared at the two girls laying side by side on the low table – they might have been asleep if one overlooked the slashes in Hermione's robes, and the dreadfully raw state of Padma's feet.

The fireplace he gazed at for a while before casting in a handful of powder. Green flames rose high and, tensing up with a growing fear, Ron plunged his head into them and choked out, "Twelve ... Grimmauld ... Place!"

.

Flight Delayed

"RON!" shrieked Hestia, when his head appeared through the flames at the Blacks' residence. "Are Harry and Hermione with you? It's almost one o'clock! We've been worried sick! Didn't know whether to call Dumbledore. Where are you? Is everything alright?"

The dam of Ron's emotions began to crack, and his already tear-streaked face screwed up in the fight to hold back the flood. "S–sorry, b–but..."

"Ron, you look ill!" She looked back over her shoulder. "Sirius! They're here."

Ron struggled on gamely. "D–did H–Hermione tell you why we were coming?"

Hestia shook her head. "Don't you know? Didn't she say? What's happened? Just tell us."

Sirius had joined her at the hearth looking tired and slightly irritated. Ron bit his lip, wondering whether to pull back and try for St. Mungo's.

"Ron?" said Sirius.

"There's been a t–terrible... accident..."

"Harry's hurt?" cried Hestia. "Then what are you waiting for? Tell him to – can't he walk? ... Say something, Ron! Or is it Hermione?"

Ron battled to get any sensible words out. "G–girl ... hurt b–bad. Real bad." Fresh tears streamed down his face now. "D–don't know wh–"

"–Help her through, Ron – immediately," said Hestia in a take-charge kind of manner. "Kreacher! Fetch my aid bag, would you? The big one."

Still wincing with grief, Ron nodded, and the tortured face briefly withdrew into the green flames. When that blood-matted, red-haired head re-emerged, his upper body pushed out too, and in his arms he held out Padma. Sirius took her from him immediately.

"Careful!" cried Ron. "The legs are..."

Hestia suppressed a gasp when her professional eyes fell upon the state of Padma's feet, but Ron was disturbed to hear her tone of relief when she said, "It's not Hermione," for he knew how fond she was of Harry's closest friend.

"Who is she?" said Sirius, as he waited while Hestia conjured a small wooden trestle-bed for him to lay the girl upon.

"Her name's Padma – Padma Patil."

"How did this–?" began Hestia, but Ron had retreated into the flames once more.

"Raise the bed a little, Sirius," said Hestia. "Kreacher, fetch me more dressings – the whole stock." She shook her head as she began casting healing spells. "All I can do is try to delay the infections but I don't see how even St. Mungo's can save her legs."

"I think she's been stunned," said Sirius. "What have they been up to? I'll kill Harry when he gets here!"

"Probably for the best that's she's out of it until they can treat her for the pain. I'll call them as soon as the Floo – where's...?"

At a sound from behind them, both Sirius and Hestia turned. Ron stood before the hearth, and in his arms he cradled Hermione's body.

"Oh, Merlin! Call St. Mungo's, Sirius!" cried Hestia. "I can't give my full attention to both!" Out from her bag she pulled a large bottle of salve, then dug deeper for an additional potion.

Ron shook his head as Sirius tried to edge around him to make the Floo-call while his eyes were still fixed on Hermione's very visible face wound. "Ron, what the hell have you...?"

He stopped. Ron wasn't moving; his agonised face shone wetly. Hestia, hearing the sudden silence, turned.

"Dead..." mumbled Ron. "Hermione's dead."

His legs gave way and Ron sank to his knees. Hestia, despite her long experience working at St. Mungo's, stifled a sob and froze for a moment. Sirius reached for Hermione...

"No..." wailed Ron, unwilling to release what might be a last contact with his beloved friend.

Hestia came forward. "Ron, we have to..." Her eyes scrutinised the slashes in Hermione's robes and her mind snapped back into focus. "On here, Sirius!" With one sweep of her wand, she cleared the long kitchen table and conjured a white cloth upon it. "Lay her out."

But it was Ron who, with great effort, staggered to his feet and, with great care, placed Hermione on the sheet. Hestia cast a diagnostic spell out of habit, but her practised eye could see there was no life to be detected. "Ron, tell me one thing..."

She whirled around. "Is Harry safe?"

Confused by the question for a moment, Ron tried to think. "Yes, he's still at Hogwarts."

"Ron, we need to speak to a lot of people. Can you tell us briefly what happened?" said Sirius. Hestia returned to Padma but her ears were open to what was being said.

Nodding numbly, Ron explained how Hermione had took him to rescue Padma but Hermione was lanced through by a trap of large spikes. He made no mention of Macnair and told them truthfully he had no idea where the house was located. "It was Hermione's plan, you see. You know about the potion that kept me hidden for months? – it was in the Prophet. Harry must have told you?" When they both nodded, he said, "That's what happened to Padma too."

Sirius sighed. "Why on Earth didn't you tell someone instead of going off half-cocked to–"

"BECAUSE NOBODY WOULD REMEMBER ANYTHING THAT HERMIONE SAID!" stormed Ron, then added in a weary tone, "Even I couldn't. She needed me to take the potion again you see, then to apply the antidote to..." He gestured towards Padma then gazed weakly about for somewhere to sit.

Hestia cried, "Help him, Sirius! That chair there. Kreacher! Make us a big pot of tea would you?" She began a series of incantations as her wand moved over Padma's form.

"Yes, Mistress. Kreacher lives to serve..."

"Is this Hermione's?" said Sirius, one hand on the beaded bag hooked around Ron's arm, as he guided the boy down to his seat.

"Aah..." Ron rose uncertainly to his feet once more and stumbled towards the table.

"Ron..." said Sirius, "let me..."

Ron placed the bag beside Hermione's body then took from it the open shoebox which he also positioned delicately next to her.

"A raven?" Sirius said doubtfully.

"Aculus. He was Hermione's familiar." Ron's bottom lip curled up as more tears filled his eyes. " _saved my life..."_ He crept back to his chair.

"Not fly," said a tiny voice from the doorway.

"Cadence!" cried Hestia. "You shouldn't be up darling. Back to bed with you. Kreacher, take Cadence back upstairs please."

"Come along then, young Miss," said the old house-elf.

"Not fly," repeated the toddler. There was a gentle smile on her lips.

Sirius eyes flicked from the shoebox then down to his daughter wondering how she could even see the bird, and if she'd heard him talking. "Baby, you know what a raven is? Say _raven._ "

"Not fly ... _yet,"_ said the little child, and lifted her arms – and her eyes – upwards.

Then those eyes closed, shutting out the physical world, and an immensity of magical healing power emanated from Cadence, filling the room. Ron became aware that his thumb was no longer sore. Cuts and abrasions he'd ignored no longer stung at all. Yet he looked across in even greater amazement when a fluttering sound, as of feather against card, was heard from the shoebox.

"By Merlin!" Sirius watched as the bird tried to stretch its wings against its confinement then stood and succeeded.

As the bird flew up to one of the smoke-blackened beams above, and began preening itself, a sigh came from the body on the table. Sirius took a step back, blinking. Hestia stopped her chanting. Ron slowly stood up and turned towards the kitchen table...

Hermione was lifting herself up to a sitting position and gazing around. "Goodness..." was all she said. "Goodness me..."

"Can't be..." murmured Hestia. "Impossible..."

"Ron, were those spikes really as long as you said?" Sirius muttered doubtfully.

But Ron was crying again, and couldn't answer.

Hestia said, "No, I meant... Padma. She's sleeping now and, well, see for yourself."

Padma's skin was intact. There wasn't even a scar. Hestia billowed the yellow robe over her and let her be.

Hermione was working herself off the table, and Sirius held out his arm to support her.

"Ron..." smiled Hermione, "you brave, wonderful man. You did it. You did it all!" She moved forward to give the astonished boy a long hug.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _A long chapter but I couldn't end it with Hermione still dead, could I? And no, Cadence is not the second coming of Christ; she is simply a witch with astonishing instinctive healing powers and insight because she was herself born of an extended love-healing process. As far as the no-resurrection rule, this fic is AU and I'm taking the line that if someone has only very recently died, and if their soul has not yet 'flown' ('gone on' in JKR's words) – perhaps because their earthly task is not yet complete and so it's harder for them to break free – then, with the right healing, they can be returned to life. I see this as a kind of post-death magic equivalent to Lily's blood anchoring Harry to mortal life should he choose to come back._

 _FreidenSchmi reminded me that Barty Crouch Sr was killed in the original Book 4: Goblet of Fire, yet I have him, Jop and Mike getting together years later in Hermione's former life. I need to address that anomaly. Now, because it is critical that Hermione knew they would cooperate well (despite differences) I can't easily rewrite it. So, since, I already have everyone dying off in the original timeline, I have to extend that AU at least as far back as GoF, and that Barty Sr didn't die. Don't hesitate to point out any errors like this, everyone, because the fic is getting so big that I'm wondering if I can keep track of everything. Yes, I work from notes but not to JKR's professional level._ :( _Incidentally, this last chapter was really hard to write. I do work on this fic everyday but often in short, drip-feed sessions which then trigger the creative tsunamis._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	64. 2:A Year To Live

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight Ministry corruption and Black Arc members, and Crest defensive training at Hogwarts where she is now in her second year. Ron rescued Padma from Macnair. She and Hermione were healed by Cadence. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 64**

 **A Year To Live**

* * *

.

Agreement of Secrets

Astonishment, confusion, joy, and worry – every wave of emotion cascaded onto the fragile shoreline of the hearts and minds in the Blacks' residence: Hermione was alive again! Padma was fully healed! Shouts and screams and laughter mingled ... rose in volume ... then all faded to silence as present reality and consequences ascended to the forefront of everyone's concerns.

Hestia cuddled baby Cadence up into her arms. "Back to beddy-byes, sweetheart," she murmured in the young one's ear as they disappeared out through the kitchen door.

Sirius ran his hand through his hair in consternation as Hermione repaired the damage to her robes. Oh, she made a show of using her wand and feigning a struggle with the spell, but Sirius wasn't fooled. "Hermione... Ron, we need answers."

"Well, I..." began Ron.

Hermione looked towards Padma who was still deeply asleep on the trestle bed that Hestia had conjured, and said, "Perhaps if–"

Kreacher spoke from the door. "Mistress wishes to speak with Master."

"But... very well, then." Sirius paused at the door and looked back to say, "You'd better have a good story prepared when I return."

The two youngsters waited until they heard his footsteps fading up the stairs before looking at each other questioningly.

"Are you really alright?" Ron said anxiously as he joined his friend on her way towards Padma. He'd seen Hermione mortally impaled in the last hour yet here she was walking about. "No pain?"

"I'm fine, Ron, honestly," said Hermione. "Everything went dark for a while then... there was light."

"Light?"

"Just light. Like basking in a beautiful ocean of contentment. I was waiting, you see."

"Waiting? For what?"

"Just waiting. There was no hurry, no impatience, no desire, only a sort of... blissful completeness – yes, that's the only way I can describe it. Then... there was a tiny hint of darkness behind me, like night at the end of a brightly-lit tunnel, and I knew I could return to it if I wished, or continue on my way."

There was something so intimate, so sacred in Hermione's disclosure that Ron dare not ask _where_ , but there was a suggestion of sorrow in Hermione's choice. "Why? Why come back, Hermione? There's nothing but grief here."

Hermione's voice fell to so soft a whisper that Ron could scarcely hear. " _For Harry. ... I came back for Harry._ "

They stood together quietly then, observing Padma's gentle, relaxed breathing, and wondering what she might remember of her capture.

"I have to discover what she knows, Ron. I have to..."

His nod indicated he'd guessed what she was about to do, and why. He watched her focus on Padma, knew she was delving into her unconscious impressions of events. The action took less than a minute. "I've Confunded her very, very slightly, Ron," admitted Hermione. "She won't remember Snape stunning her now. She'll be slightly confused wherever she wakes up, but will know nothing about what happened. It's for the best, isn't it? Sometime we have to choose between what is wrong and–"

"–what is worse," Ron finished for her. "Hermione, I..."

"What is it, Ron?"

"I... oh, Merlin... I killed him. Macnair."

His face screwed up with the burden, and Hermione placed an arm around his shoulder. "Anything can happen in a dangerous fight, Ron."

"No, you don't understand... I _killed_ him. Macnair. He'd surrendered, yet I... murdered him."

"Oh, Ron..." Hermione embraced him fully then, murmuring what comfort she could in his ear. "I wish I could say it's alright, Ron, but it's a pain I've carried myself more than once. Was it the knife?"

He nodded against her.

"The blade sensed your intent then. There was no easy way to stop it so your guilt is very minimal. I doubt you could have carried it out if I'd not given you the knife."

"But in that moment I truly wanted him... _exterminated_ ... for what he'd done to you."

"There are many such times when a fierce hatred makes us wish someone dead, yet it's rare for most of us to continue wishing it. Do you regret it? Have you any remorse?"

Ron was sniffling a little. "Yeah. Most of me wishes it didn't have to have happened that way."

She stood back and looked down to his belt. "At least you retrieved the knife. They won't know who did it."

"The Black Arc, you mean? If they go there, they'll find Macnair skewered by his own snare. I accidentally dropped the lousy blaggard on it while trying to get him into the Floo. I cleaned everything else up. I reckon it'll look like an accident."

Hermione blew out a long murmur, " _whoaaaa..._ A fitting end..."

"But what now, Hermione? What do we do now? How do we explain Padma to her family? And to Sirius and Hestia?"

"We must find a way to keep it all secret, Ron. We can't reveal anything to draw attention to ourselves and we can't expose Snape yet – if at all – until I know if he's working with Dumbledore or not. He stepped over the line – delivering Padma to them – but they might have misled him that it was for a lesser purpose."

"Unlikely."

"I agree. But somehow we must find a way to persuade Sirius and Hestia to keep quiet about all this. How? Let me think for a–"

–Aculus sped down and alighted on Hermione's shoulder. " _Shush, Mistress! Here they come!"_

Footsteps could be heard descending the stairs outside. Hestia came through the doorway followed by Sirius. "Is Padma still sleeping?" said Hestia.

Hermione nodded. "Listen..."

"Look, you two," said Sirius, "we have to–"

"–Let me ask them, Sirius," said Hestia. "Let's all sit down and finish our tea."

Once they were all seated comfortably, the two children looked expectantly at Hestia, fearing the worst.

She sighed. "Ron, Hermione, we need to beg a favour." Again she paused. "It's Cadence. We're desperately afraid that if news leaks out, we – that is, _she_ would be deluged with people seeking healings. Thousands would flock to our door – billions if the whole world knew. But we want her to have a normal childhood. Once she has grown to womanhood then she can decide for herself what she wishes to do with her life – we will support her – but for now we want to protect her. Suppose a gang like the Black Arc got wind of her abilities? They'd stop at nothing to take her for themselves. As well as healing their most serious, even deadly, injuries, they might try to force her to bring back the most foul of wizards, Voldemort and others. We doubt it is possible to restore anyone except those whose souls have not yet departed, but they might try – and try most cruelly."

Hestia's eyes were imploring them now. "We – Sirius and I – are begging you to keep our secret. Can you do that? Tell no one?"

Startled at the turn of events, Hermione said, "Of course we will, but can you in turn keep our part in this night secret?"

Sirius frowned. "If we could. But once Miss Patil tells her parents what's happened, you'll–"

"–Padma won't remember anything of the last year. I was thinking–"

"–A year!" said Hestia. "How can she have been missing a year? There's been nothing in the news."

Ron cried, "Olive Hornby was missing for _fifty_ years without anyone knowing!"

Hermione said, "The potion, remember? Even Padma's own family didn't notice she was missing – though her twin sister, Parvati, has felt troubled and confused from time to time without knowing why. They might know now, of course, many people will if they're awake and think of her."

Sirius put his hand on Hestia's arm. "Do you recall how strange we felt that day when Ron became noticeable again? We'd not given him a thought for months – no offence, Ron."

"None taken," said Ron, then added morosely, "Even my own mother scarcely noticed I was missing, apart from sometimes weeping without reason."

Hermine continued, "Have you any robes of Harry's that might fit Padma? – not school robes. I was thinking that if you wake her in the streets near here, you could say you found a strange girl wandering about as you were returning from... somewhere or other? Call the Aurors?"

Both Hestia and Sirius stared at Hermione. It was Sirius who spoke first, and he was shaking his head. "Her parents will need to know what happened to her – and Padma herself has the right to know."

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "But... it's complicated."

"What are you into, Hermione?" said Hestia. "Maybe we can help. Perhaps if you explain the events leading up to your arrival here? Or Ron?" she added turning to the boy who had been gazing into the empty fireplace during this conversation.

Hermione had to choose carefully what to say. "Padma was kidnapped by the Black Arc," – both Hestia and Sirius gasped – "and her lower skin removed for some evil ritual. Apart from that, I can guarantee she has not otherwise been harmed because they themselves forgot about her once they gave her the potion, and they never had any further interest in her. She has been unconscious all this time. Her family and friends did not miss her and she herself has not aged a single day."

"How do you know all this?" said Hestia.

"Oh, Hestia, you know I sometimes 'see' things! – that she'd been taken by the Black Arc, but I didn't know where. All I knew was a Floo address which turned out to have a deadly trap set.

"Yet you didn't see that coming?" Sirius said dryly.

"I only have glimpses, but I don't need second sight to know that if you report Ron and me, then our lives will be in great danger."

Hestia said, "Is Harry involved in any of this?"

"No – well, only by association – as our friend."

Hestia and Sirius looked at each other. Sirius shrugged his shoulders in resignation, and Hestia scowled. Hermione knew she'd won the argument. They wouldn't want to risk Harry being in danger.

.

A Stand Against Injustice

Less than an hour later, Hermione and Ron were back in their dorms at Hogwarts. Harry had covered for Ron by drawing the curtains around his own bed then creeping into Ron's bed. He'd burrowed his head and hair deep under the coverings and mumbled "Goodnight, Harry," then tossed and turned plenty of times so it was obvious Ron's bed was occupied. Of course, he'd stayed awake, and on Ron's return had pestered him with questions that the troubled boy was too exhausted to answer.

Parvati was woken early by McGonagall and went home with her father. Their whisperings were reassuring to Hermione, who, half-awakened, had drowsily overheard from her own bed.

At breakfast time, the Entrance Hall was more crowded than normal with students, all heading into the Great Hall or waiting for friends to go in with. Slytherins in particular mostly grouped near the Great Hall entrance to casually block and intimidate. Unconcerned, and maybe as a gesture of contempt, Seamus and Dean pushed close enough to jostle elbows on their way in, chatting with Lavender and a couple of Hufflepuffs. Olive was not far away either. She waved to Ron and ran to join him and his friends as they descended to the foot of the marble staircase.

"Something's up," she said, pointing to where Professors Sprout, Quirrell, and McGonagall were causing the logjam by apparently counting heads on the way in – the only means of being sure no one else was missing.

As Hermione scrutinised them, she noticed Dean winked back over his shoulder at Harry before disappearing inside.

"What was that about?" asked Hermione, her head still not clear from lack of sleep.

"No idea," said Harry, then added in a whisper hardly necessary in the hubbub, "Listen, are you two going to tell us anything about last night, or what? You've both been acting a bit... stiff since you came back."

"Sorry, mate, we can't," Ron said in a dull, dozy voice. "I told you last night we can't." Olive took his left arm supportively, and Ron placed his right hand over hers.

Hermione frowned then proceeded to hold Harry's arm in the same manner. "Harry, he's right. We'll tell you what we can, if and when we can."

Luna watched all this most carefully then slipped one hand inside Neville's arm and pulled his other hand onto hers. "You may escort me to breakfast, Sir Neville, if you would."

"Of course, your highness," Neville said with a straight face, but perhaps there was just a hint of a smile.

Ginny pulled a face and muttered softly to herself. "Guess I'm left to just tag along behind as usual..."

"Move along, you Slytherins," McGonagall could be heard saying. "No need to clog the door once you're in – get to your table. Everyone, move promptly to your tables as soon as you're inside – not you Potter. I want to see you in my office."

"What, right now?"

"Right now, Mr Potter! I'm sure you know why."

Harry's jaw gaped stupidly for several seconds, then, "I haven't the foggiest."

"GO!"

"Hermione," hissed Ron, "what's happening?"

"You have something to say, Mr Weasley?" McGonagall held up her wand for a few moments to stop other students passing her head count.

"No, Professor."

"Miss Granger, you, I also wish to speak with in my office immediately after breakfast. You'd better prepare yourself."

Now it was Hermione whose mouth opened slackly, but she said nothing and followed the others towards the Gryffindor table. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle moved to intercept them.

Draco hissed in passing, "Perhaps now you won't be able to drag him down to your level, Mudblood."

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy," said Neville, turning around with Luna still on his arm.

With a sneer, Draco eyed them up and down like he was inspecting a cesspit overflow. "So it's become formal has it? Baby fat arse and the babbling loony? How appropriate!"

"Take that back, Malfoy!" cried Neville, unaware that not only was Dumbledore observing, but most of the nearby tables were also listening, and Snape was striding towards him.

"Which part?" scoffed Draco. "The width of _your_ backside or the absurd length of _her_ crazy ravings?"

In a rage, Neville leapt at Draco, fist first. The knuckles raked past Malfoys' jaw knocking his head sideways. As he stumbled, Neville legged him over then knelt on his wand hand, pinning it quite painfully. "Apologise or– !"

"LONGBOTTOM!" roared Snape, dragging Neville up. "You deliberately attacked– !"

"–He started it! He's just a foul-mouthed bully!"

"So this is what your nasty secret Crust meetings are all about is it? Well, we'll–"

"We're CREST, you great stu– you... MISTER Snape! And we're sick and tired of common garden pests like this one threatening kids and – well, we're not standing for it any longer!"

A dozen Gryffindors, mostly Crest members, rose up briefly from their seats, grumbling their agreement. A few of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs who could properly hear what was said added their shouts too.

"Longbottom! If nothing else, you will learn good manners and how to curb your vicious temper by serving tea to Mr Malfoy each and every day until the end of this term!"

Draco, displaying a bloody swollen lip as he clambered up, winced as a smug grin formed on his bruising jowls.

"I... I... what!" Neville cried, and his face was dark and menacing. "Why, I'd sooner – I'd rather – "

Draco was laughing. Anyone could see it was hurting his jaw to do so, but delight was temporarily numbing his reaction to it.

With family honour threatened, Neville's rage heightened. "A Longbottom will never serve the corrupt Malfoy lineage! We end this now!" A wand spat from sleeve to hand, and the proud boy swore an ancient oath: "DUELLUM! – I, Neville Longbottom, of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom, so challenge Draco Malfoy of the Malfoy House!"

There was a long moment of shocked silence.

"ENOUGH!" Dumbledore was on his feet now. "There will be no unrestricted duels at Hogwarts! Mr Longbottom, would you please–"

"NOTHING can block a lawful challenge!" cried Neville, "except an unreserved and full apology – which I am entitled to refuse!"

Draco wasn't laughing now. Holding his painful jaw, he snarled, "Why you pathetic little nobody, do you have any idea who you're dealing with!"

"Then fight, you coward – else I claim the right to–"

"STOP!" thundered Dumbledore. "You will NOT claim or act upon the right to attack. ... A threat of death at Hogwarts is unacceptable so I am left with no alternative. Neville Longbottom is expelled. Draco Malfoy will return to his table."

The silence that followed lasted even longer than the first. Neville gaped at the Headmaster open-mouthed. What had he done?

"JE SUIS NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!" The voice was loud and clear. It was Luna's. "Where he goes, I follow."

More shocked silence, and not a little puzzlement. "What did she say?" ... "Did she says she's...?"

"JE SUIS NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!" Ginny moved to stand beside Neville. "I follow too."

"I AM NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!" declared Hermione, moving forward.

Ron and Olive responded as well – and so did several Crest members, repeating the declaration while only half-realising the implications. As it dawned upon each of them, their expressions moved through wide-eyed fear to steadfast resolution. And that proud straightening of shoulders triggered something new in Hogwarts history. More and more students were rising to their feet in support. Most of the Gryffindors and well over half of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were making their stand against injustice. A loud unsynchronised roar began repeating the mantra:

"I AM NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!"

Neville's eyes shone in astonishment. Luna took his hand. Snape, face swollen with anger, was looking towards Dumbledore. Professor Flitwick was murmuring something in the Headmaster's ear.

Finally, Dumbledore stood up and raised his hands for silence. "Very well. Even as Supreme Mugwump I do not have the right to stop a lawful family duel. However, I can postpone it at my discretion."

Flitwick looked up to remind him. "Only up to one year."

Dumbledore dipped his head in acceptance. "Therefore, the proposed duel of honour will NOT take place earlier than this same date next year. Perhaps during the interval, heads will cool and common sense prevail against such nonsense. That is all! I repeat, that is all! Please resume your seats and continue with your breakfast."

Hermione and Luna guided the astonished Neville to the Gryffindor table amidst much back-slapping and applause. Yet while there was an abundance of high spirits at the victory, Hermione and Ron were solemn. Ron was still coming to terms with the previous night's experience. Hermione was concerned for both him and Neville. Ron had killed an unarmed man, albeit driven by a bewitched blade. Neville had challenged a boy to an unrestricted duel; such fights only ended when one of the opponents was utterly disabled, but could lawfully end in death. Neither Ron nor Neville had been so aggressive until much older in Hermione's former life.

She sighed. Wasn't this early preparation what she had worked for? Or had she driven them too far?

"It's all falling apart, isn't it?" Ron murmured to her as he stared glumly at a slice of toast he didn't really want.

"We have to keep our eye on the bigger prize," said Hermione, more to suppress her own twinges of guilt. She pinged a finger against her goblet; it rang – though flatly like her mood.

"The 'Greater Good', you mean? But you said you came back for..." He looked around, hoping to see Harry on his way in. He frowned. "Why'd you think McGonagall didn't see you both together?"

Hermione shook her head and lapsed into inner thoughts, pumpkin-and-orange-juice-mix forgotten.

"There was a sorry scandal at Beauxbatons last year too," said Luna. "Remember, Ginny?"

"Do I ever! All the girls fancied him."

"I didn't," said Luna. "He was rather vain and _too_ nice-looking if you know what I mean. And he made things up that weren't true."

"Imagine that," Ron said dryly, and took a bite of his toast.

"Yes, really," said Luna. "He claimed to have defeated creatures that don't even exist on dates when he was seen elsewhere with – poor Fleur, she was only fifteen."

Ginny said, "They should have stopped him before he – you know."

"Yes but did he?"

"I'm sure he must have. Everybody said so."

"But are they always right? He only got a _réprimande sévère_ so that suggests not. And Harry's not even–"

"–Wha–! Whoa, hang on there!" Ron spluttered chewed toast crumbs. "What you on about, Luna?"

"Why, that Harry's not a Veela of course. Otherwise Hermione could claim she was entranced beyond her will." Luna sighed and snuggled onto Neville's arm. "It's so nice to be entranced beyond your will."

"Depends on who's doing the entrancing," muttered Ginny, loudly enough for them to hear.

"But, Luna, what's this got to do with Harry?" said Ron. "Hermione, do you get what she's on about?"

"Hmm...? What? Sorry... I was just wondering why Professor McGonagall wanted to see Harry separately."

Ginny sighed. "Luna thinks Mcgonagall regards it as inappropriate for you as a Potions teacher to have a relationship with a student – Harry, of course. I mean, you pranced in on his arm for all to see."

Luna looked bemused. "Isn't that what I said?"

Hermione was aghast. "My Goodness! Surely she can't... is that all it is? ... One student escorts another – touching hands – and one of them teaches a few lessons a week because the current Potions teacher is such a useless twit? Well, I suppose..." Her mouth twisted about as she sunk into more thought on the matter.

Deep thinking and conversation were both diverted by the arrival of owls winging in overhead. Hermione quickly scoured the morning's Daily Prophet. With her quill she ringed around for later reading a substantial three-quarter-page article about the proposed Muggle Protection Act, but discovered only a brief entry on the last page which mentioned Padma was missing. She exchanged silent nods with Ron as she pointed to it. No doubt the Patils had reported their daughter's absence, but Padma's return had been too late to meet the news deadline.

"Miss Weasley, could you please inform Professor Granger that Professor McGonagall wishes to see her immediately."

"Harry!" cried Ginny.

Harry sat down next to her, ignoring his usual empty place next to Hermione, muttering sulkily, "Apparently I'm not even allowed to have friends anymore."

"Harry! What did she say?" cried Hermione.

Harry savagely jabbed at a huge pile of sausages on a serving dish and tried to transfer one to his own empty plate, but it wouldn't shake off his fork. "Would someone please inform Professor Granger that Professor McGonagall demands to see her this instant."

"I've not finished eating!" Hermione slammed down her cereal spoon and rose to stamp a foot, glaring at Harry. "This conversation isn't over yet, Harry James Potter, not by a long way." She trudged out rather noisily.

For the first time in a long while, Ron managed a weak smile then reached for a bacon sandwich. "Ol' McGonagall'd better watch out is all I can say."

"Spill it, Potter!" Ginny said fiercely.

Harry sighed and lowered his voice. They all leaned forward to hear. "Someone in our dorms grassed us up. Said Hermione wasn't in her bed and my curtain was drawn so maybe I wasn't in mine either."

Ron gasped. "But you _were_ there! In _my_ bed, covering up for me!"

"I know, Ron, but you can see what it looks like!"

"So...?" mused Neville.

"So if Hermione and I are seen... you know, too close together again, she will be regarded as ineligible to teach, and we all rejoin Snape's Potions classes."

Neville groaned. "It can't be the same though. I won't put up with his insults, not after this year. I'd like to choke him with his own–"

"–Be careful what you wish for," muttered Ron.

Olive nodded, despite being unaware of all he really meant. "Dormitories are real gossip nests, but it's nice to be included. Mandy finally chatted with me this morning when I was getting up, then Lisa and Sue joined in. You were right, Ron, it just took them time to warm to me."

Ron frowned. "Yet they always chatted with you in your common room and at meals. Do girls have like a closed inner circle when they're in their, you know, nightgowns and–?"

Olive's face coloured slightly. "No, course not. I think they were just used to talking with each other and because my bed is in a corner they tended to overlook–"

"–What's _grassed?"_ said Luna.

Ron stared at Olive, a new suspicion dawning in his mind. "So they squeezed in another bed in when you became noticeable after all those years? Or was it already there?"

"It means 'snitched'. Someone snitched," said Ginny.

Olive tried to remember. "I think it used to be another girl's bed – but they've never mentioned her."

Ron knew then it must have been Padma's, and anything connected with her would be mostly unnoticed – even Olive, who was compelled to use the bed and could focus on it. He bit his lip, wondering how to change the subject quickly. "Uumm..."

"No, nobody snitched," whispered Luna, "not intentionally. Dean was having a private chat with Lavender in the Entrance Hall. She probably asked Dean if Harry was with Hermione the night before, and naturally he'd mention the drawn curtains. Professor McGonagall could have overheard some of it – Draco too. That's what Draco meant when he said Hermione wouldn't be able to drag Harry down to her level anymore because McGonagall would stop them remaining close. And that explains why he set a prefect on Harry but not you and Ron. It's because he likes Harry but thinks we're a bad influence on him."

Ron said, "Wh–? How do you work these things out, Luna?"

"But it's obvious, isn't it? Draco stopped Harry from going to the dome of thorns because he knew it was dangerous, but he didn't stop the rest of you, and haven't you noticed? He's only rude to us when Harry is not around? Like this morning."

Neville swore softly. "I'll fix him next year. Since he's got such a big yap I'll master the mouth-eating curse so he can eat his own words."

"Erm..." said Ginny, tugging at his sleeve, "I think that curse doesn't just eat words. The mouth eats itself then everything else inside out."

"I know it does," said Neville, darkly. "I know it does."

Harry blinked, suddenly aware he was foolishly holding his fork with the reluctant sausage still clinging on the end. "Why me? Why's Draco polite to me?"

Ginny clutched and shook his arm. "You're Harry Potter, of course. Everyone admires Harry Potter, the Boy who lived."

The sausage finally fell.

.

Love or Duty

Hermione returned in a grim mood just as everyone was finishing breakfast and heading out for lessons. Neither she nor Harry wished to be the cause of all the Gryffindor second-years having to resume lessons with Snape.

"This is your fault, Dean," growled Ginny, as they all caterpillared their way to Quirrell's class, led by Harry, Ron, and Olive.

"I didn't see McGonagall in the doorway!" protested Dean.

"Neither did I," moaned Lavender.

"It's nobody's fault but mine." said Hermione, one step behind them at the back, chewing toast, " I should have known better. And tell Harry Potter to grow up and stop sulking – pass it on."

Ginny sighed and tapped Neville on the shoulder from behind. "Hermione says, tell Harry to grow up and stop sulking – pass it on."

"No, me! me!" cried Luna and she called forward to Sally-Anne and Fay, "Hermione says, tell Harry to grow up and stop sulking – pass it on."

Fay and Sally-Anne laughed. "Hermione says, tell Harry to grow up and stop sulking – pass it on."

"I CAN hear you, you know!" Harry shouted back. "Tell PROFESSOR Granger to go jump in the lake!"

And so the back-and-forth insults built up – entertaining the passing Slytherins no end. Quirrell was not amused. "Settle down now please and file into the classroom quietly."

As they did so, Harry craftily sneaked another look at the folded parchment in his pocket – a message from someone called _Rosie_. He fought down a smile.

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Echo864 said about the previous chapter that it wasn't obvious that it was Cadence that healed Hermione and Padma. On re-reading, I agree. I try to avoid over-explaining in my stories, but sometimes over-subtleness can confuse or break the flow. So, I've added a few lines to make it clearer._

 _Erm... now I do have to over-explain! I'm sure one definition (probably British) of 'caterpillar' is a column of schoolkids side by side usually led by a teacher through the streets. The whole column doesn't march uniformly like soldiers but straggle, catch up, and bunch, straggle and bunch – like some caterpillars walk along. I can't find this definition anywhere on the net – let alone used as a verb like I've done._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	65. 2:A Coming Together

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight Ministry corruption and Black Arc members, and Crest defensive training at Hogwarts where she is now in her second year. Ron rescued Padma from Macnair. She and Hermione were healed by Cadence. As a Potions teacher, Hermione is forbidden a romantic relationship with Harry. Neville challenged Draco to a deathly duel to take place one year hence. Now read on..._

.

 **Chapter 65**

 **A Coming Together**

* * *

.

More Than Friends

Harry Potter stood beside the statue of the humpbacked witch on the third floor and adjusted his invisibility cloak before tapping on the stone head. " _Dissendium,_ " he whispered, and his thoughts flew back to when Hermione first brought him to Hogwarts through this secret passage from Honeydukes.

He'd scarcely finished the incantation when the hump swung open, and now the boy's mind cast forward to the one he hoped awaited him below. With a last quick glance around, Harry clambered inside the statue and heard it closing above him as he slid eagerly down the chute.

"The ruse worked well," murmured a gentle voice. "Did you remember to cast a Notice-me-not spell on your bed this time – then walk the long way round to throw off anyone following your invisible scent?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, Hermione, I think by now everybody in Hogwarts is hearing we've broken up with each other before they'd even learned we were... you know, uuh... together?" His smile yielded to uncertainty and concern. "But how long before we can show ourselves as... well, at least as friends again?"

"Fade the aggravation away over a few weeks, I suppose," mused Hermione with a shrug. "But remember, no cuddling or even holding hands in public places."

"We're not in a public place now, Hermione," said Harry slyly.

The corners of Hermione's mouth twitched and she raised an eyebrow. "You're growing up faster than in my old life, that's for sure."

Harry closed the gap between them and she received him with a wonderful rush of joy. This simple hug transcended their kiss in the owlery, for here there was neither shock nor the haste of impending danger. They nestled quietly together for a while, lightly moving and sighing against each other – her dream fulfilled at last; he still scarcely believing he could be so loved.

"Hermione... just set my stupid mind at rest – you're uumm... we're erm... serious right? I mean, will you be my girlfriend now, even if nobody can know?"

Hermione, who had waited over a century to hear such words from Harry Potter, trembled against him, and couldn't speak for a while.

Harry mistook her silence for doubt. "Only if you're sure of course."

"Harry... how can I–"

"It's alright if you don't – well, not alright, but you know..."

She sighed at the misunderstanding. "Harry, do you know the most precious thing I own? Not only in this life but through most of my earlier life?"

She drew Lily's woolly wrap from her bag, and breathed upon it so the rainbow colours shimmered in the moving air.

Harry observed the effect closely. "You mean I gave you Mum's shawl in your other life as well? So we were–?"

"–No, sadly we never shared our feelings. And that's why I'm more forward with you this time around. I'm not waiting till it's too late again; life's so very short."

Harry considered Hermione's words for less than a moment. "Then you're not my big sister anymore? You'll actually be my girlfriend?"

"Can't I be both?"

The shawl's softly yielding folds were crushed between them as their lips touched, the fabric's colours intensely vibrant and alive to their passion. _He_ detected a fragrance too elusive for anyone less close; _she_ responded to the ardour that finally drove him past his nervous hesitation.

When they parted, Harry bashfully looked away to distract himself from the intensity of Hermione's shining gaze. "Bit dusty down here ... I suppose we could cast a scouring charm..." With a shaking hand he tried, but found his mind too full of happiness to include anything as mundane as a spell.

Hermione's attention could fall only upon the edge of his flushed cheek and the back of his head. A moment arose – when someone is present yet cannot know they are being considered very closely – that is both intimate yet detached and free. It focused her mind intensely. He was just Harry again, yet more vivid, more real – perhaps because of the decades of her yearning imagination. His presence absorbed her complete attention.

"Where did you learn to do that?" she whispered.

"Do what?" He did not look round.

"To kiss so... you touched the tip of my tongue with yours."

"Did I? Oh, er... didn't think. Sorry."

"Who told you to do–"

"Nobody!

She saw the angle of his jaw tense as his tone relented to add, "I erm... read it in a M–Muggle book."

That Harry had studied such a subject made Hermione smile and wonder if it had been for her that he'd researched kissing, and what else had he learned? Her eyes followed him as he walked off a couple of steps and badly aimed his wand at several dirt heaps, mumbling irritably, " _Scurcify... Scarcify... Scourgafly_ "

She giggled softly at his lovely awkwardness. "Oh, we can't use this place regularly – the twins know about it."

Harry jerked around to stare anxiously up the stone chute, as if expecting to see Fred and George grinning down at him.

Hermione smiled. "They won't be coming here today."

"How can you be sure?"

"They're trying to undo magic on a prank I played on them – good luck with that because it wasn't magic I used – except in application." She held up a well-squeezed tube of superglue. "Glued their shoes to the handrail as they were sneaking up the girls' stair with a box of dungbombs."

"They were climbing along on the handrail?" gasped Harry.

"They daren't call for help, and if they can't find a solution within a couple of hours, everyone will be waking up and catch them red-handed – or should I say, 'footed'."

"They'll just slip out of the shoes."

"I glued their socks to the shoes."

"They'll pull out of their socks!"

"I glued their feet–"

"–NO – WAY! Harry absorbed the image in his head then succumbed to laughter. "They'll love it, you know – being outpranked."

"I know. But we have to get back within an hour to wake up along with everyone else – and free Fred and George of course – _maybe_..." She chuckled quietly to herself as she tried to make up her mind.

Harry nodded. "So... if not here, then where can we meet and talk and... uuh, be with each other?"

"We'll search the castle. Hopefully we can find a place."

"The Room of Requirement."

"No – too many Crest members in Room 4J at any time – come on, get your cloak back on and let's start looking."

Without hurrying, they ambled around the castle, peeking down little-used corridors and through mysterious, unknown doorways. Despite their high hopes, only smelly store cupboards and empty classrooms were found – and rejected.

"Once or twice should be safe enough, but eventually someone would find us," moaned Harry.

"So..." said Hermione, her crafty grin lost to invisibility, "you're planning a long-term relationship?"

Harry pulled her under his cloak for a long cuddle. "Only till erm... beyond the end of time."

"Oh, Harry, that's so swee–mmm..." She didn't have a chance to ask him if he'd read that in his book.

.

The Ties That Bind

Days of fruitless exploring passed where the only spaces that Harry and Hermione thought even worth a look were an upper dogleg-bend in a disused and very sooty chimney and a tiny bathroom down a forgotten corridor – both of which they rejected with a sniff and a sneeze.

Naturally, they'd gradually revealed their true actions and affections to their five most trusted friends, while apologising for the deception and explaining it was to gain their natural reactions for all to see. Luna 'knew' of course, and Ginny suspected – or at least, hoped. Ron was relieved to learn there'd be few more public quarrels. Olive, well Olive became rather thoughtful at the apparent breakdown and subsequent reunion, and turned aside to reminisce.

Alarmed, Ron stepped towards her. "What's wrong?"

Startled from her reverie, she said, "Oh, nothing. It's just... it reminded me of my own separation from someone I still care deeply for, that–"

"–Aah..." Ron's face tightened. "I suppose it's only natural you'd still think about him – _them_ "

"No, no – it's a girl – an old friend!"

Hermione said, "You mean Myrtle Warren, don't you?"

"We were all cursed. I regret that Irma and I are alienated from Myrtle, but she's still annoyed at me, I think." Olive looked speculatively at Hermione for a few moments. "Could you help?"

The recollection of Hermione's last meeting with Myrtle and her abrupt dismissal of the ghost in the Prefects' bathroom after Neville had been injured by Umbridge, caused Hermione to cringe inwardly. Yet, brushing away a frown of doubt, she agreed to go with Olive and provide some moral support at least.

They made their way to the library at the first opportunity – the last weekend in May when most everyone was outside enjoying an improvement in the weather.

"Madam Pince," Olive began formally – for there were one or two students passing within earshot of the checkout counter, and rules were rules after all – "remember before Easter when we spoke about a reunion with Myrtle?"

The librarian nodded. "I've been think more about it myself lately. Are you free now? It's so quiet today I can leave my assistant in charge."

Olive smiled and nodded.

Together, the three of them walked apprehensively out and along the first-floor corridor, somehow wishing that the toilet which Myrtle haunted had been at a greater distance. All too soon, Madam Pince was leading the way inside. "Myrtle?" In the gloom and squalor of the disused bathroom, the once-stern librarian's voice trembled slightly. "Are you here?"

"What do you _WANT!_ – oh, it's you two – and _YOU!"_ The squat ghost glared at Hermione as she glided out through a cubicle door. "Well?"

Hermione took a step back behind the other two.

"I'm here to apologise," Olive said quickly. "I should not have teased you. I never realised how much it hurt. I'm sorry."

"Humph!"

Olive squirmed. "Can't we be friends again? At least you and Irma here. You and she were always close."

"Not for fifty years!" shrieked Myrtle, rising angrily up towards the ceiling. "You never visited me once! I HATE YOU!"

"And yet..." Irma Pince was suddenly mindful of the ghost's attire. "I see you're still wearing the butterfly brooch I made for you."

"Aah..." Myrtle's spectral hand went instinctively to the precious jewellery clasped on her robe. Very gradually she began to drift down amongst them once more.

A single tap dripped in the silence that followed.

Olive softly murmured, "I'll never forget you told Irma she was the very best of friends. Only Tom's dark magic blighted our happiness and kept us apart."

"Please don't let him win, Myrtle," said Irma, and the older woman anxiously wrung her hands at the thoughtful stare returned by the apparition.

"His supporters couldn't possibly have provided him with the fellowship we enjoyed," said Olive. "Let him remain jealous in whatever hell he now resides for murdering you."

"That boy was horrible," wailed Myrtle – without breath, yet the dim candlelight shivered as though in agreement.

"It was all his fault," said Olive.

"Tom Riddle destroyed everything we had," added Irma, watching the ghostly girl's expression very carefully. "Made us all victims – you especially, Myrtle."

"He did, didn't he?" said Myrtle.

"But it's not over really, is it?" suggested Olive, hopefully.

And Irma added with a new firmness, "We're all still here."

"Still friends..." Olive murmured.

"Always," said Irma.

"Always..." repeated Myrtle, and there was a tone of wonder in her voice, as though she was noticing something long since forgotten. Indeed, the face of the ghostly schoolgirl was lighting up for the first time in long years.

Gradually, Myrtle thawed and was drawn in by their comments. For most of the next forty minutes or so, the three of them reminisced while Hermione kept mostly back in the shadows observing.

"It's sad that you're homeless, Olive," said Myrtle. "Where will you live when you leave Hogwarts? And what will you do with your life?"

"Mr Weasley has been trying to find my sister-in-law, but I never knew her... I just don't know. I can't think what I'll do when I leave school. I never had any career ambitions like you, Irma." she added, trying to redirect attention away from herself. "Will you try for a Ministry post now you're free?"

Madam Pince looked unsure. "Hmm... these days I love the library like I used to when I was young, and and helping the children is so rewarding. Anyway, corrupt Ministry attitudes would greatly hinder any career prospects I might have had there."

"But, Irma, you always dreamed of working to improve the Magical community!" cried Olive. "In the fifty years I've wandered the castle, you've so often had a book open on politics, or law or – I mean, you've never lost your interest! You must know more about the workings of the Ministry than almost anyone."

"Which is why I've turned against working there."

"But don't you want to change them anymore?" cried Myrtle, who had been inspired, uplifted by the most interesting conversation she'd had in decades, and in which she felt herself treated as an equal.

"How? The system is dominated by upper-class arrogance, not ability. Take Miss Granger here; she's one of our most diligent students, but her ancestry would count against her at the Ministry."

Hermione goggled at the librarian. "I never knew you held such views, Madam Pince! What if there are others who share your vision? – Jop Gair and Adam Brown for instance. They write to Ministers and to the newspapers, making others aware of new, forward-thinking opinions and attitudes. Together you could make a difference without working directly for the Ministry."

"I know of Gair's work of course. Perhaps... yes, perhaps I might write to him, exchange ideas... Why, Myrtle, what are you smiling about? You look radiant! Will you travel further from this dull chamber in future? Visit the Great Hall and the library at least?"

Myrtle's features were indeed shining, even more translucent than ever. "Yes, there are so many who wish to talk with me – I had no idea! And this bathroom is so bright now it reveals the ugly cracks and hard edges."

"Bright?" the other three exclaimed almost together.

Hermione said, "Myrtle, where is the light coming from?"

"Why, up in that corner, of course – see?" And the ghost gazed upward in a kind of rapture, her hands clasped before her upon the butterfly brooch.

"I know that light, Myrtle," Hermione whispered into the confused hush that had fallen upon the group. "Follow where it leads. You must."

"Yes... yes, I should go now..."

The others watched as the increasing brilliance that was Myrtle Warren ascended into and through the dark shadowy cobwebs to leave behind forever the bathroom in which her embittered soul had confined her.

"We'll miss you, Myrtle," cried Olive and Irma.

"Not for always," came the fading but joyous reply. "I'll be waiting for you..."

.

The New Seeker

The month of June brought the promise of even warmer weather – though many days were to pass before that assurance was fulfilled. The end of the school year would bring other changes too.

"We _must_ find somewhere before the last day of term," hissed Harry out of the side of his mouth to Hermione as the common room filled with students returning from the final class of the day.

"Ideally, we need a sealed room that no one else can enter or even know about, otherwise word will get back to Professor McGonagall sooner or later." Hermione's faint whispers were near inaudible amidst the noise.

She looked around. "Grab that last comfy chair on the other side of Dean, and I'll sit behind you at the table so we can talk without being together."

Harry nodded, then rushed as he saw Seamus heading the same way.

"Oy, watch out, Harry," Dean said good-naturedly as Harry almost trod on his foot in passing.

Harry wasn't listening, but once seated, he twisted about slightly to catch anything Hermione might murmur to him.

"What did he say?" Dean was asking Seamus.

"Who?" Seamus glared mildly at Harry for beating him to the seat then slumped onto the arm of Dean's chair.

"Wood, of course!"

Hermione said softly, "Harry, once we find somewhere, you can always excuse yourself because of the noise in here – I mean to go do homework some other place."

Harry did indeed have to strain to hear what she was saying, what with Luna and Neville still performing their soppy princess-and-devoted-knight game ahead of him, and Ron with Olive talking on his other side, not to mention Dean and Seamus raising their voices above the hubbub. Fortunately, Hermione mouthed a repeat of what she'd said, and Harry tried to give a nod too tiny for anyone else to notice.

Seamus shrugged. "Oh, yeah, Tenbreigh finishes Hogwarts end of this month."

"...then wilt mine enemies bend the knee, and I shalt grant thee a boon beyond all boons," Luna was saying to Neville.

"So Wood'll be trying out new Seekers in September?" said Dean.

"I love boons," mused Neville.

Seamus nodded. "Hey, Harry, will you be trying for Seeker next year?"

"Eh, what?"

"Seeker," said Ron. "Yeah, you gotta great chance of making the team."

Harry looked thoughtful. "I'd love to if... if I can find time to practise. Yeah, I might... yes I will."

"You can't," said Luna. "Ginny's already been–"

"–Shush!" cried Neville, craning his neck to make sure Ginny was still at the far end of the common room talking to Katie and Angelina.

"Oh, is it a secret? I don't think it is," said Luna.

"Well they were keeping quiet about it."

"He's got to do trials, Wood has," said Dean quite firmly.

Luna said, "Andrew asked Oliver two days ago and they spent a few minutes throwing–"

"–Andrew Kirke?" he's rubbish at–" Hermione closed her mouth quickly as she realised the memory of Kirke's poor Quidditch performance was from her former life.

"How do _you_ know?" frowned Dean. "I didn't think you liked Quidditch."

"Ginny said he was very good," said Luna. "I think all that Crest practice has sharpened his reactions – I suppose it's snatching wands out of the air, that sort of thing."

"So how come Ginny...?" said Seamus.

Luna smiled. "She joined in to help Oliver collect missed golf balls he was throwing for Andrew to catch on their broomsticks. She caught so many before they hit the ground that Oliver noticed, especially when she flew in and caught one before it even reached Andrew!"

Ron and Harry yielded to laughter and drew in everyone with their merriment.

"So you heard then?" Fred and George were coming over. "We were the ones who pushed Ginny forward to help." George winked. "Subtle or what?"

"The ruse nearly failed though," added Fred. "Kirke was better than we knew – better than you made him sound, Luna. He was rather upset. Bit like young Harry, here." He ruffled up Harry's hair to his annoyance even though the result didn't look any different than normal.

"You can still ask for a try-out, Harry," said Dean.

Harry shook his head. "Not if Ginny's been accepted."

"Only informally," said Neville. "And provisionally. Probably why Wood's not announced it. He'll decide in September whether to do formal trials."

"Still... Ginny's a close friend. I won't get in her way."

"You fancy her or something?" grinned Seamus, glancing over Harry's shoulder.

"NO! uuh..." Harry resisted looking at Hermione while everyone was watching. "Mmm... maybe... Actually, she's really cute and growing up fast. Her long red hair's beautiful, and when you look deeply into her eyes she's ... she's ... she's behind me, isn't she?"

"HARRY!" shrieked Ginny, and flung her arms around his neck with a loud whisper, "Sit with me at dinner?"

"Oh, well, erm... yeah, uuh... love to."

"Come on then. It's nearly time and we can walk slowly and talk and... you know..." She nudged his ribs with her elbow.

Ginny grabbed Harry's hand, and drew him away towards the exit amidst hoots and catcalls from many as they also began preparing themselves to meander down for the evening meal.

.

The Last Toast

"Ginny, I..." began Harry, as she, still clutching his hand, was an eager half-step ahead and swinging her arms and hips to express her joy.

"Isn't it wonderful! You and me?" she cried, so loudly that her voice echoed cheerfully along the corridors as though searching for anyone that might hear.

"Listen, it's not what you think."

"I understand completely, Harry. You've been keeping your feelings hidden."

"Mmm... the fact is..." He stopped dead in his tracks pulling Ginny to an abrupt halt. "The truth is I like Hermione and was only–"

"–only encouraging the rumour that you'd finished with her." Ginny's voice had lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, adding, "Of course you're Hermione's." She giggled softly then guided him along to the nearest stair. "But you still owe me dinner."

The Great Hall was curiously lit when they entered. A tired sun was slowly sliding down from view, and its light now illuminated only the tops of the high windows, especially those whose glass was stained. That luminescence did not reach the habitable area below, but instead caused the upper reaches of the opposite walls to glow a soft stony yellow. The silence and emptiness completed a cathedral-like impression for the two friends who then walked almost reverently to their place at the bare table of Gryffindor with their backs to the western wall and those splendid windows above.

Harry stared at the other tables before them, and murmured, "Strange to be sitting down for dinner and see nobody else in here."

"I've been thinking," whispered Ginny, for it seemed to her a curious sacrilege to raise one's voice higher, "did you and Hermione..."

"What?"

"Did you and Hermione have any children in her other life?"

In the relative gloom, Harry's eyes whitened in surprise. "Hermione and I weren't together, Ginny."

She nodded slowly and a light smile told Harry that Ginny had suspected as much and was testing him. "Us then..."

"What?"

"Luna was working it out. Hermione has made it very clear we were all friends before. Haven't you ever wondered why she won't tell us much about our personal lives – how we died and so on? Hermione was shocked when Luna and I went to Beauxbatons, so that probably never happened before. It means Luna and myself would now be first-years, not second. And she said the Hat tried hard to sort her into Ravenclaw so perhaps Luna and Neville wouldn't have... you know, got together."

"Mmm... so, erm...?"

"Olive surprised Hermione too – she clearly didn't know who she was, remember? I think Olive would have grown up normally and been in her sixties by now and never met Ron."

Harry nodded slowly as he absorbed Ginny's contemplations.

"So, that leaves... us," she finished.

"Us?"

"Harry, what if it was you and me – suppose we were married with children of our own? What happened to them? Did they stop existing when Hermione started this new life?"

High above the Slytherin table, a ray of sunlight reached the edge of a polished wall sconce and its sudden gleam held Harry's attention as he jerked upright in his seat, gripping the tabletop in response to his young companion's fears. "Ginny! We all died early, remember? And all Magicals were dead before Hermione came back. It was over. The world itself was dying."

"But..."

"Ginny, you must never ask Hermione this. She suffered enormously, that I do know. We all did. Don't ask her to reveal the horrors she wishes to remain hidden."

Ginny twisted up her mouth in mild protest but said nothing, merely nodding slightly in resignation that Harry was right. A few other students were beginning to drift into the Hall so the conversation turned to other topics.

"Lavender said Parvati won't be back till next term." Ginny reached out for a goblet of pumpkin juice when drinks and other appetisers began to appear on the tables. She took a few sips. "Her family need time to adjust to Padma's return. Luna thinks–"

"Forget what Luna thinks!" snapped Harry. "Sometimes she's too smart for – she's not spoken to anyone else?"

"Course not!" Ginny put her goblet down with a clunk. "You do realise Padma was found the same night that Hermione and Ron were gone?"

"Ginny, please!"

"And not all that far from where you live, Harry. What if–?"

Harry's irritated sigh cut her off. "Just forget about it, Ginny. I trust Hermione and I trust Ron. If they were involved and want to keep it secret then we must respect that."

"Shush! Here they come."

"You were the one who–!"

"Shush!"

"You two lovebirds falling out already?" scoffed Fred as he took his usual seat beside George further along the table.

"Yes!" hissed Harry.

"No!" Ginny glared at her brothers. But she winked at Harry.

Ron and Olive arrived and sat on the other side of the table to face them. Luna and Neville headed towards Ginny's side.

"Neville, sit opposite Harry," whispered Ginny.

"But I want–"

"It's just for a minute!"

Luna pushed him on his way and sat herself next to Ginny before gazing dreamily at the sunglow up on the opposite wall.

As the Hall filled, the food began to appear, and the students reached forward to fill their plates with delicious roasts and vegetables.

"Not yet, Neville," sang Ginny in a low lilt.

"But I'm hungry."

"It's just for a minute!"

"That's what you said two min–"

"–Ah, here she is," whispered Ginny. "Well come on then, Neville!"

"What?"

"Why aren't you sitting with Luna?

"But you said–" He sighed then clambered out from the bench and walked around.

Hermione frowned in the doorway. Malfoy had just passed, vaguely murmured, then gave her a curt nod and made a beeline for his usual place at the Slytherin table. _Why's he never rude when Harry can see him?_

The only remaining seat near her friends was the one opposite Harry that Neville had vacated, and she took it with mixed feelings: pleased that she could turn her back on Draco, but unsure of openly sitting close to Harry before they were sure McGonagall would no longer be suspicious. _At least being on the other side of the table is not as intimate as side by side,_ thought Hermione, _and no one can say it was deliberate._

Ginny broke into Hermione's reverie, "Me and Harry were talking about the summer holidays."

"We were?" blinked Harry. He felt a nudge in his ribs. "Oh, yeah, holidays. What's everyone doing?"

Olive's eyes lit up. "Ron's asked me – well, Mr Weasley really – to stay with them!"

"Yeah, but it was me what asked Dad," said Ron, scooping mash high to make room for sprouts. "Though he was thinking of asking anyway."

"How strange..." mused Luna, eyes filled with sunlight but dish still empty.

Hermione said, "Did he find Mrs Hornby yet – your brother's uumm... widow?"

Neville said, "What's strange, Luna?"

"My brother's wife moved to Europe years ago." Olive looked thoughtful as she waited for the gravy boat to sail her way. "To be honest, I'm wondering whether to ask him to leave it at that. She'd be a complete stranger to me, and I wouldn't want to live in an another country."

"It's shiny like the rock," said Luna. "Black and shiny. Sings in my head too."

Olive half rose to her feet ... then sank slowly down again. "You heard it as well? It was so soft and hazy, I thought I was only remembering it."

Hermione craned sideways to stare at them both. "I thought I heard a murmur near the doorway when I came in. What did you hear, Luna?"

Luna's eyes rolled up dramatically and she uttered a softly hissing breath, " _Joinnn ussss! Join us nowwwww!"_

"Something like that anyway." Luna sat upright and began to spoon cauliflower and cabbage onto her platter.

"What's going on?" said Harry with a puzzled frown.

Hermione's head jerked left and right, searching for the source and to see if anyone else had heard Luna.

"Oh, I wouldn't gaze round if I were you," said Luna. She draped a lank cabbage leaf over a pale-faced floret and squealed with laughter. "Look – it's Mr Snape," she explained darkly, then laughed some more.

"He's using Legilimens? Can't be..." said Hermione.

Luna looked up from her caricaturesque cauli. "Not him – Draco's new chalice." She sighed. "I suppose it's magical."

With enormous effort, Hermione refrained from turning around to look. Ron was preoccupied with his meal, but Olive glanced quickly back.

"What's it look like?" said Hermione. "Someone describe the chalice to me without staring at it."

Harry said, "Same as the one he had in first year – jet one side and silver the other. Might even be the same one repaired."

"And, Ron, you definitely saw Draco pick up a chunk of that black rock by the pool in the dome? How big a piece?"

"Yeah, size of a small club – it's hard but not heavy like stone mostly is."

"Probably is similar to jet then. But jet is derived from organic material and–"

"–It's what?" said Ron.

"Living tissue compacted under immense pressure. I hate to think what the–"

"–The first true life made by Magic," grimaced Olive, and she laid down her knife and fork while staring mournfully at her roast beef. "Not all would have escaped through the Gates."

Neville squirmed. "You mean they were consumed by the blue sludge?"

"Makes sense," said Hermione. "The mud's excrement would have sunk to the lowest levels and been compressed over a billion or more years into that black rock only to resurface when water seeped in to form the pool and drove away the ooze. Somehow it retained remnants of magical consciousness. It wasn't the mud we heard in our minds, Olive, but the black rock reaching out to us."

"So Draco drinks from that crap?" scoffed Ron, digging cheerfully into his fork-squashed sprouts.

"No," said Luna.

The others waited until she continued, "He only drinks from the silver side."

Hermione ached to look around and scrutinise Draco and the goblet, but she refrained. The eyes of Harry, Neville, and Ginny did flick up.

Luna, who had still not selected what to eat with her cabbage, said, "A light toast, I think."

"Princess, this is dinner, not breakfast," smiled Neville.

"No, Draco's... ever so slowly and silently he's raising his drink to you, Harry."

"Luna," said Hermione, "how do you observe so much while looking at the ceiling or a stain on the floor?"

A peel of laughter escaped Luna's lips. "I don't _look_ at the ceiling, Hermione. I only _think_ at the ceiling. How else can I decide what to eat with my greens?" And she finally began to serve herself.

"Luna's right," said Harry. "I think Draco is furtively saluting me. Why? And why didn't he want anyone else to notice?"

"Maybe he was only _showing_ you his chalice," said Ginny.

"Showing _off_ his chalice more like," said Neville. "I'll take him down next year, don't worry – him and his... dark chalice," and Hermione could see a grim, steely look in the boy's eyes, quite unlike how he'd been at this age in her former life.

Hermione surveyed the others: Luna and Ginny advanced beyond their former years with Ginny not shy at all, and Luna no longer isolated but steered still by her sensible mother's love; Ron more serious and mature, thoughtful and reliable; Harry less burdened and so much happier, maturing into leadership with less hardship. Yes, if trouble was coming, they would all be more ready to face it.

 _And the larger picture?_ Hermione's eyes lost their focus as she pondered what was to come. Dark influences at the Ministry slowly being eliminated without attracting attention – yet. The seeds of Magical-Muggle interaction and cooperation planted, being watered, and already sprouting great promise. _Yes,_ thought Hermione, I have cause to be hopeful.

"Hermione?" whispered Harry with a quizzical smile, "you've gone away again."

She laughed softly. "It's alright, Harry. I'm still with you. Everything's fine."

.

To be continued...

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _That ends Book 2 – but remember, the fic is only temporarily marked 'Complete' and will continue. This chapter was one of the hardest for me to write, probably because there was nothing too exciting but only necessary ideas to introduce. Because of the delay, you might suppose I did nothing for weeks then rushed it – nothing could be further from the truth! I worked at least a few minutes every day. One has to be patient with creative writing and keep at it no matter how slowly it comes out._

 _Oriyehuda pointed out that Harry has been diminished, made less able – pushed too far into the background. This is true and not really intended. It was just a natural consequence of other events, particularly Ron's necessary prominence in this book, and Hermione's (and Draco's) protectiveness of Harry. There will be more Harry in Book 3._

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

.


	66. 3:Loss And Growth

.

 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight Ministry corruption and Black Arc members, and Crest defensive training at Hogwarts where she is now in her second year. Ron rescued Padma from Macnair. She and Hermione were healed by Cadence. As a Potions teacher, Hermione is forbidden a romantic relationship with Harry. Neville challenged Draco to a deathly duel to take place one year hence. Now read on..._

.

 **Book 3: Hermione Granger and The Poisoned Chalice**

.

 **Chapter 66**

 **Loss And Growth**

* * *

.

In The Right Place

SCREE _EEEEECH!_ An absurdly tall purple bus lurched to a sudden halt in a quiet London square, scattering pigeons and rattling windows in the nearby houses.

"She's here! Hermione's here!" yelled Harry Potter from the front room of twelve Grimmauld Place. The boy practically bounced out into the hallway and sprinted past an astonished Kreacher to the front door.

Sirius laughed from the kitchen doorway, "Steady there, Harry! Don't look too eager."

But Harry was already opening the door and waving like a loony in the bright sunlight.

"Hermione! Where's your bag? Didn't you bring your bag? Didn't you get an owl from Ron?"

The young miss pointed at the side pocket of her faded jeans then glanced around before murmuring, "Shrinking charm."

Harry stared hard at the broad smile stretched across Hermione's yellow t-shirt as he stood aside to let her in. He'd never seen her quite so casually feminine before. "What's...? Are you dressed like a Muggle worker? Didn't you get Ron's invite?"

"That's not till tomorrow. It's a lovely day. I thought we might go for a walk. And don't I get a welcoming kiss?"

A grimace accompanied by swivelling eyes informed her of Harry's reserve as he hissed, "Hermione..." The boy cocked his head back and sideways to where his mum and dad were watching from the kitchen.

Hermione waved. "Hi, Hestia! Hi, Sirius!

Their greetings hailed back with Hestia adding, "Come through. Tea's brewing."

"Be right there! Harry's going to show me your new curtains."

She drew Harry into a surprisingly-expanded front room then pulled him into a hungry embrace. Flushed cheeks brushed and glided over one another. Breathy mouths fluttered across soft skin. Lips met.

Only when her eyes opened once more did Hermione see over Harry's shoulder the reason for the parlour's apparent increase in size. A grand painting of an identically-styled room, flush with the carpet and almost covering the far wall, gave the impression of extension.

Footsteps.

"They're really pretty!" cried Hermione, moving rapidly away to inspect the window drapes.

"Cadence wants her Aunt Hermione." Hestia was bustling in with the baby clasped to her bosom, little arms reaching eagerly out.

" _My'nee..._ "

Taking the child, Hermione exclaimed, "Woooooh! You _are_ a big girl, aren't you?"

Cadence giggled happily. "One now!"

"You're one year old – yes. And what comes after one?"

Cadence, mouth wetly open, searched Hermione's expression for the answer. "One! One!"

"Two. Two comes after one," smiled Hermione as they walked through to the kitchen where Kreacher was pouring out the hot drinks.

Sirius looked quizzically at his son. "So, erm... how did Hermione like the uuh... _interweaving_ , eh, Harry?"

The young lad almost dropped his cup along with his lower jaw.

"Sirius!" smiled Hestia.

"What? Muggle blossoms from the outside, magical sheen within."

Hermione reached for the beaker of warm milk that Hestia had slid along the table towards her, then sat down. "Absolutely wonderful, Mr Black. I enjoyed the sensation very much. From the street one sees quality design – though few can perceive the house at all through the Fidelius charm! But inside the house, the curtain fabric shines with vibrancy, and the sunflowers seem to be swaying in a breeze. There's much to be said for combining Muggle innovation with Magical ability."

"– _billity,_ " Cadence burbled into her beaker.

"Yes, we gain a lot from Muggles," said Hestia. "This house is Georgian and built by non-magicals in the eighteenth century."

"The time must come when we should support them in return," said Hermione, very softly.

"How?" frowned Sirius. "The Statute of Secrecy–"

"–needs modifying," said Hermione, and she hoisted Cadence further up her lap. "How would the House of Black vote if the Ministry wished to offer a degree of covert assistance to Muggles?"

"Not gonna happen," said Sirius firmly.

"Hypothetically, I mean."

"– _thet-tickly,_ " gasped Cadence, nose in beaker but coming up for air.

"What have you been reading, Hermione?" said Hestia "Don't tell me you study politics – that reminds me, Sirius, Arthur Weasley asked me to nudge you to take your seat when they vote on the second version of the Muggle Protection Act."

Sirius groaned. "Yes, I remember. When?"

"Erm..."

"Eighteenth of this month," said Hermione. "It's been long delayed by Malfoy and others but that's turned out to be a blessing in disguise. An additional clause has been quietly slipped in."

"Clause?" said Hestia. "About what? I don't remember that in the Daily Prophet."

"Er... no, that's because it was _quietly slipped in?_ " grinned Hermione. "Protecting national interests. You can order a copy of the proposed Act from Ministry Publications."

Sirius frowned. "But 'protecting national interests' could mean almost anything."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Die-hard Pure-bloods don't give Muggles any consideration, so they'll conceive the clause – if they notice it at all – as 'protecting the Magical community'. Those in the know will understand it means far more."

"Such as?"

"Protecting the nation as a whole, Muggles included."

"From?"

"Any serious problem or threat, whether within or without."

Hestia put down her cup. "You've foreseen something again, haven't you?"

Hermione nodded but hesitated before continuing in a darker tone, "Global conflict. Only a union of magic and science can prevent disaster."

There was a long pause.

Hestia said, "How? How might such an unbelievable agreement be achieved?"

"The Muggle Protection Act is a step in the right direction. Use your vote, and use it wisely, Lord Black."

Hermione helped Cadence put her beaker onto the table then wiped the baby's mouth with her handkerchief. "Does she need burping?"

Hestia smiled and shook her head. "Not anymore. Honestly, Hermione, I thought you knew everything about everything!"

A rueful smile played on Hermione's lips. "Not too many baby books at Hogwarts, I'm afraid." She stood up.

"I'll take her," said Hestia, moving around the table. "Did you say that you and Harry are going out together?"

Harry spluttered the remnants of his tea before scrambling to his feet. "What!"

"I thought I overheard you say you're going out for a walk together," smiled Hestia.

"Oh, right... yeah. A walk."

Sirius chuckled and followed the youngsters to the front door. He and Hestia watched as the two children walked away down the street, Harry glancing back now and again to see if his parents were still visible.

"Come on, Sirius," said Hestia. "Let them alone." She pulled him back inside.

Sirius grinned. "They'll be snogging like sink plungers the moment they get round the corner."

"I like to think they'll only be holding hands," said Hestia. She closed the door. "What do you think of her?"

"Hermione? As a person? Or as the recipient of our son's affections? Even a possible future Lady Black?"

"All of the above."

"No one better," Sirius said quiet firmly. "Her actions are sometimes... disturbing, but her heart's definitely in the right place."

Hestia smiled. "I agree."

" _'gree!'"_ cried Cadence, with a squirm and a wriggle of approval in her mother's arms.

.

Living With Yourself

At the next side street, Hermione reached out her hand, but Harry backed around the corner before taking it and pulling her after him.

"Harry! Your parents do recognise we're now together, you know! They're not blind to the feelings we show – how we look at each other."

"I feel daft in front of them. Anyway, Dad jokes as if girls are just targets to show off with."

She squeezed his hand affectionately, and he squeezed back. "Harry, he loves your mother very much."

"I know," he admitted with a sigh.

Hermione paused in her stride to turn round and look behind them.

"What?" said Harry.

"Oh, nothing, I suppose. Just for a moment I imagined–"

"–Hermione, you've got an advertisement for... _Diesel ... Industries_ sewn on the back of your old jeans! Is that to earn enough to buy smart new ones?"

Hermione laughed and turned to face him. "These _are_ new! Many manufacturers deliberately distress their range to look old and used – some even ripped! Designer stuff is not really my thing. Mum bought them for me because she thought they were trendy."

" _trendy?_ – so that means they charge less because they're ruined and you have to advertise for them?"

"No!" giggled Hermione, as they resumed walking. "It's crazy I know, but they actually cost more when they carry advertising and have this faded, worn-out look."

"So Muggles are forced to wear them to pretend to be poor? Why?"

"Not 'forced' exactly, but manipulated so the companies make more money.

"Is that what the big smile on your yellow shirt means? Muggles are tricked into being happy about buying old-looking clothes and show free advertising?"

"It's called a 'Smiley'. It's just a welcoming sign that indicates you're friendly. Haven't you seen them around here?"

She held him back at a street crossing until the traffic lights changed to red.

Harry watched the vehicles coming to a halt. "I've seen a few funny designs and words and things, but not like yours," he said as they walked across the road. "Look, we generally Floo or Apparate everywhere so... anyway, I do know there are Muggle shops further along – yeah, look where those people are – oh, and a café to the right, I think."

"Let's head there then."

They chatted and teased one another quite happily as they walked along for several minutes. "That's a letterbox," pointed out Hermione, "for Muggles to send letters. They don't use owls."

Harry pulled a face. "I know that, Hermione, I'm not completely gormless."

"No, Harry, you're uninformed; gormless means stupid. For example, that second shop front looks like a mini-mart which is a small supermarket."

"A what?"

"A supermarket is a very large shop where you have to serve yourself, Harry."

"So a mini-mart is a small big shop? Seriously? And they won't serve you?"

"Absolutely. You have to gather what you need yourself. They only take your money at the end."

"Muggle shoppers work for them without pay? And give them money, anyway? And the shops are small but big? I suppose it's because they're narrow but four-storeys high. What are those soup bowl things up there?"

"Satellite dishes. They get television pictures from the satellites high above."

He squinted upwards. "I can't see any."

"Well, that would be because they're over 20,000 miles away."

"Now you're winding me up like a clock spring, Hermione."

"No, honestly. And those things whizzing by are–"

"–cars. Yes I DO know what a car is, Hermione! I'm not totally _uninformed._ Muggles can't use broomsticks to move around – except for sweeping up, of course."

"No, they mostly use special cleaners that suck up dirt."

"Ugh! Those poor people! Oh, look, is she one in this mimmy...?" He paused to look in the window they were passing at a shop assistant who was on her knees stocking a shelf.

"Mini-mart."

"Right. Minny Mark. What are those big packets on her right? Why aren't they selling them anymore?"

"Washing powder. They _are_ selling them, Harry."

"That sign says 'No longer on offer.'"

"That means they're no longer on special offer – like reduced in price, or two for the price of one."

"So they're still being offered for sale?"

"Yes, they're still on offer, but not erm... _on offer._ "

"Muggles are really weird."

"Continue walking, Harry. Don't draw your wand visibly. Don't look round. We're being followed. Someone's hidden under a disillusionment spell on the opposite pavement."

For one moment, Harry hesitated in his stride, but to his credit he resumed moving forward, albeit rather stiffly. He felt Hermione's hand slip out of his, followed by her whisper:

"Just keep going, Harry. I'm slipping in the mini-mart to disappear for a bit."

She laughed loudly, and called out, "I'm just going to buy some milk! Won't be long!"

Harry gulped. "Hurry then!"

His legs felt like he was wading up a fast river. He ached to turn his head to try to spot the danger. He did sense a flicker on the right out of the corner of his eye. What if he was being cursed right that very instant? _Trust Hermione!_ he told himself.

The sun went out.

A blast hit him in the back and he was hurled forward, face down on the paving slabs, cracking his spectacles. A hurricane of dust and shreds exploded violently from the mini-mart behind him and out into the road. Immersed in a rush of black smoke, he was blinded by the howling cloud of fine debris that instantly filled the street, and a loud, powerful roar caused pain in his ears.

Coughing, spluttering, he rolled over, wand topside up and in his hand. A vague empty space, outlined and slowed down by the spraying filth, was struggling towards him from across the road.

"DIFFINDO!" shouted Harry, aiming low.

A shriek of pain was heard above the tumult. Down went the near-invisible shape, was bowled away a few turns by the dark blizzard, but came to rest in the opposite gutter when the blast petered out as suddenly as it had begun, leaving only a dark, drifting fog.

Ignoring the groans and cries from the suspicious sneaker, Harry rushed back to the shop – except there was no mini-mart anymore, only a gaping rubble-floored chasm between the adjacent buildings. Fragments of packets and papers, shreds of fabric and flesh, twists of trolleys and transoms – all littered the cracked pavement and tarmac. Harry's grit-stung eyes locked numbly onto the contents of a tiny sandal, but the grisly remnants were too surreal to evoke any reaction within his shocked mind.

"HERMIONE!" Yellow or blue was what the distraught boy searched for – yet hoped not to find. _The label... what was her jeans label...?_ "HERMIONE! _HERMIONE!"_

"Harry, over here!" Her voice sounded from near the moaning figure. She became visible through the gloom a moment later.

A sob of relief escaped Harry's lips as he scampered over to rejoin his girl. "Are you hurt? Hermione, are you alright?"

She nodded up from where she crouched but her voice was tense with anger. "I'm f–fine. The shelving just inside – store hid me, so – faded s–straight away and circled round after this... this l–loathsome, loathsome..." She prodded the camouflaged shape with her wand and he became fully visible. "Harry, you did amazingly well to injure his legs – no accomplice could restore him quickly to the fight – but – and don't take this the wrong way – you ought to have incarcerated or stunned him as well in case he–"

"–I was more worried about you, Hermione!" Harry's expression darkened as the reality of what had occurred was gradually sinking in.

She shook her head and held up the man's wand.

Harry muttered his agreement and put a hand on Hermione's shoulder, mostly to reassure himself he wasn't dreaming. "I'm just so glad to see you alive."

Her hand went over his and she, Harry, and the intruder were all gone in that same moment.

With scarcely time to react to the rapid Disapparition, Harry found the three of them were up within the angles of the nearest roofs. Sunlight warmed his face again, but a rising dust cloud was still visible beyond the slated ridges. Police sirens wailed in the distance and Hermione reacted immediately by tugging up the sleeve of their captive. Over her shoulder, Harry could see what appeared to be a skull and snake tattoo. "That's a–"

"–Death Mark. Yes, Harry." Hermione's curse tore off a long strip of skin including part of the snake's head.

The man screamed. "Mud-bitch! You can't remove the Mark. Don't you think we've tried after all these years?"

Ignoring him, she ripped away two more patches of skin and cloth from elsewhere on the man's body, evoking more shrieks of pain before she stood up. "I'll be back in half a minute, Harry. Keep your wand on this psycho. Stop him at any cost. Kill him if you have to, but don't let him escape!"

"Hermione!"

"Think of the innocent lives we'd have saved a few minutes ago!" came her voice from the empty air.

The man gasped and blinked. "Please, please, Master Black, while she's gone... help me."

"What?" Harry stared incredulously, trying to understand. "After you tried to kill us? Why should–?"

–Hermione reappeared. "The police will cordon off the area and search it rigorously inch by inch to help identify the victims. This foul cockroach will be one of them – blown up by his own incompetence. I'll make sure a photo of the snake's snout gets transferred to the Daily Prophet. Every Magical will recognise what it must be, especially the Arcanists."

"NO! You can't kill me! Tell her, Black!"

From the beaded bag at her waist, Hermione pulled out a small vial and uncorked it.

"Hermione, no!" cried Harry.

"You can't make me drink that!" squealed the man, cringing back as if wishing the grey roof would swallow him.

"Actually, I can," said Hermione, pressing the lip of the little bottle to the former Death Eater's tightly-clamped mouth.

Subtle suggestions occurred to his thinking. _It's only a healing potion..._

"You must drink it," Hermione murmured.

"I really should drink..." His lips parted and thirstily the man gulped in a small mouthful, stretching for more when Hermione snatched away the vial.

"Enough," she said.

The man sagged into limpness, his eyes closed.

"Hermione, is he...?"

"Living Death. He'll be fine, Harry." Hermione grasped the man's arm and stood up. "We have to get away quickly. Your mum and dad may have heard the explosion. They'll be worried and we... we need a cover story. Take my arm."

Once again, Harry found himself compressed inside a dark vacuum. His only thought was of the dusty suction from a gigantic Muggle cleaning lady's jaws drawing him through a long tube of–

–A whoosh of different smells were swept in by fresh air from a grey sky. Harry stumbled, then gazed back and forth. Heavily meshed windows surrounded a round room which vaguely reminded him of Luna's attic without the clutter.

"It's a belfry, Harry. Here eat this."

Harry inspected the piece of chocolate that Hermione offered him. "What is it exactly?"

"It's your mother's pepper-up variety. It'll give you a boost before we continue our journey."

He chewed thoughtfully on one end. "I've never needed this before."

"We came a very long way. Remember I told you all there's a wizard prison in Europe?"

"We're out of the country!" Harry gaped in surprise. "You made it all the way to France?"

Hermione winced up one side of her face to show her displeasure. "Close your mouth while you're eating please, Harry."

He rolled his eyes. "Sorr–ee!"

"Yes, we've left Britain, but this is southern Germany." She bent down to inspect the man at her feet, and began casting healing charms on the torn skin and broken legs.

"Germany..." echoed Harry, finding it hard to believe they'd come so far. "We're supposed to be at Ron's tomorrow! Mum and Dad will go crazy! Can we send them an – no, one of your Patronus messages?" His hand suddenly shot to his hip bag, then halted. "Oh, no! I gave Ron my two-way mirror when we were still at Hogwarts so he could talk to Olive!"

"Steady yourself. It's only a few minutes since the explosion and hopefully we'll be back at Grimmauld place in another ten. I think if you dash in and shout, 'Did you hear a loud bang somewhere?' then ask them if they knew what it could have been, you won't actually be lying. They'll assume we were nowhere near it."

She studied his expression closely then waved her hand. "Reparo." His glasses were mended instantly, but she could see he was troubled. She softened her tone. "It's shock, Harry. It's beginning to sink in what's happened."

As she healed the scratches and bruises on his face and hands, Harry said, "Hermione, you didn't really expect me to kill this man, did you?"

She sighed. "No, but you shouldn't hesitate if there's no other option. Suppose we'd heard him when he was about to cast that Bombarda Maxima into the shop? I glimpsed about half a dozen customers in there, one of them a little girl with her mother. They'd be alive now if we could have thrown a reflecting shield at him – and _he_ would be smeared over the ground instead of them."

"But he was already helpless when–"

"–And if he'd pulled out a Portkey? Any injury you inflicted less than fatal he'd simply take with him and be healed to kill six more people – or six hundred."

For several seconds Harry stared hard at his girlfriend. "And that's how you live with yourself?"

Hermione drew a deep breath. "Yes, Harry, that's how I live with myself."

.

No Doors

Another _SWOOOOSH_. Another long Apparition. More pepper-up chocolate.

" _Now,_ where are we?" Harry's eyes swept around the rock walls of a cavern illuminated by a long overhead swathe of enchanted sky.

Hermione hovered their comatose prisoner onto a horizontal slab of granite before answering, "Devil's Deep, the most secure place on Earth."

She watched him striding back and forth, clearly agitated.

"A dungeon? Where are the guards?" he said, "and the cells?" He came to a startled halt. "Where are the DOORS, Hermione!"

"There aren't any. Not one. No one can ever get out, so no guards are needed."

"But then how do they bring prisoners in? ... oh!" He stared hard at Hermione as she conjured a pillow for the captive's head. "What are you doing?"

"I don't want him to hurt his head when he awakens."

Harry shook his head. "I don't understand you, sometimes, Hermione." He gestured expansively around him. "This is all your doing isn't it? Has to be because no doors. You dematerialised us to get inside and nobody else can do that. You lock up the people you don't kill in this desolate place and... yet you give that murderer a cushion for his head? You healed him of his injuries?"

"There's no virtue in unnecessary suffering, Harry. He's not here for punishment but to prevent him committing further atrocities. Azkaban is evil and insecure. The Ministry's justice system is inefficient and unreliable –I've seen too many good people made miserable or killed because of it. Always think of them, Harry. Always consider the ocean of pain the peoples of this Earth endure at the hands of a tiny minority. Almost all crime is committed by repeat offenders who are endlessly released to continue their evil deeds. The cycle must be broken if the world is to survive."

"Who made you the judge? Everyone deserves a proper trial! What if–!"

"–He'll get one! You're forgetting that I've told you I'm not alone in this, Harry. And yes, what if YOU misjudged when you crippled him? What if it had been Sirius following to see that you were safe? What if you'd burst a major artery in his thigh and he'd bled to death while you wasted time searching for me? This is not an Auror operation – this is WAR! You had to make an instant decision like any soldier has to. ... Harry, we do the best we can in an awful situation."

He did not answer.

Hermione said, "Are you disappointed in me?"

Harry sighed.

"Confused then?"

He nodded.

"Your parents are not yet ready to have their child preparing for war. Can you at least trust me enough not to reveal any of this to them?"

"Yes, of course! I was only... trying to understand."

.

The Witch From Tomorrow

Harry and Hermione walked in the front door of twelve, Grimmauld place, howling with laughter from each other's tickling spells.

"Me! Me!" squealed Hermione. "The barman snarled, 'We don't serve time-travellers here.' The witch from tomorrow walked into a bar."

Harry, unable to stand from laughing, collapsed into a crouch, wheezing, "Neville walked in that same pub carrying his toad. The barmaid said, 'Ugh! Where'd you get that fat ugly thing?' 'Near my garden pond,' said Trevor!"

Shrieking with laughter, the two suddenly froze. Hestia was advancing down the hallway towards them, her face filled with both worry and annoyance. "Where have you been! Are you alright?" She dropped to her knees to hug Harry then began examining him for any signs of injury. "Your father is out there now scouring the streets looking for you!"

"We... w-we heard a b-bang," Harry said hesitantly. "Did you hear it too?" He glanced over his mother's shoulder at Hermione who was waiting to see if she were needed in the cover-up explanation.

Mrs Black released him and stood up. "Professor Dumbledore Flooed in to ask if you... he said a Muggle store... er... Ministry charms detected powerful, explosive magic in a Muggle area near here. They..."

"Hawwy?"

Cadence had toddled forward and was holding out her pudgy little arms. There was no condemnation in her eyes, only hurt. Harry knew then his attempt at deceit was utterly transparent to the purity of her mind. Emotion pierced him, rose up and overflowed. The boy embraced his little sister, shaking with shame. Family was family after all.

In astonishment, their mother looked on. "What by Merlin happened this morning? The truth now!"

"It was my fault," Hermione said in a quiet voice, at the same time becoming aware of Sirius entering behind them through the front door. "We did see the explosion but we didn't want to worry you. We came back a long way round. I told Harry we should pretend–"

"No, Hermione," said Harry. "Tell them. You have to tell them everything."

"We can't, Harry!"

Sirius growled, "Hermione, I'm... we're not happy about you seeing our son unless we understand properly what's going on. Isn't it time to end this secrecy?"

Hermione amplified her tone until the window in the adjacent front room rattled. "I CANNOT! This is not just about us! The future of –" She broke off and looked desperately at Harry's mother. "Hestia, are you an Occlumens? I know Sirius is."

"How? How can you possibly know that?"

"I want your word – each of you – that you will not speak of this to anyone, not even Professor Dumbledore. Hestia, I will also have to charm your mind to prevent–"

"–You will do no such thing!" cried Sirius.

"Then I can't give you any information. Even Harry cannot tell you because his mind is already charmed."

"What!" cried Hestia. "What have you done to my – Kreacher, take Cadence upstairs and stay with her. The rest of us into the front parlour."

As Kreacher popped into view and took Cadence out of Harry's arms, Hestia hustled everyone else through the nearby door which was still open from when Harry and Hermione had kissed and pretended to be admiring the curtains. Everyone sat down on the soft furniture that huddled around a hearth as empty and forlorn as Hermione's spirit.

"Your promises! Your promises!" wailed Hermione. "I love Harry dearly and it will destroy me never to see him again, yet even so, I'll never tell you anything without you both first give me your word that this information will not be shared with anyone except those I allow."

"Those?" snapped Sirius. "Who else knows this?"

"In different degrees: Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and my parents. They all have my absolute trust and protective spell. There are also a few high-profile adults whose confidence I can never violate without their permission."

Hestia recoiled so vigorously at this news, the springs in the back of her chair creaked. "By Merlin!"

Sirius steadied her with one hand but his expression was very severe. "Hermione, you're endangering everyone! You're putting our son at risk!"

Harry cried, "Dad, Hermione is the one protecting us!"

"How?" said Hestia. "How can she?"

"Show them, Hermione."

"Your promises first," said Hermione.

Sirius said, "We cannot give our word not to divulge anything until we know what is at stake!"

"The entire world," said Hermione, quietly.

"What?"

"The whole of civilization is at risk. Everybody."

Sirius shook his head and sighed. When he finally spoke, his tone was tinged with sarcasm. "Oh, right, uuh... everything and everyone in the world depends on you? Oh, sure. Look, we need to–"

"Hermione's not exaggerating, Dad!" cried Harry. "There's – we – it's – aaah!" He struggled to speak then remembered why he couldn't.

"Harry can't tell you because of the charm I placed on him. It's harmless, but I'll remove it when he masters Occlumency as securely as you, Sirius. The same goes for you, Hestia. The Fidelia spell not only prevents Harry accidentally divulging our secrets but also obscures them from a Legilimens attack. It is derived from the same Fidelius charm that protects this house."

"I don't believe this! A concealment lock on the mind? There's never been such magic!" said Sirius.

"There is now," said Hermione. "I created it."

Sirius blew out air. "You seriously expect us to believe that _you_ invented a new spell? So advanced? Not even Dumbledore – not even Merlin himself had a thought-protection charm!"

"Well, Hermione duuu – hhhhh – sheeeee –" Harry shrugged his shoulders and gave up.

"Not much of a charm is it? So obvious he's hiding something," snorted Sirius.

Harry said, "I've never tried to force it before. That's because I _do_ want to tell you. With anyone else I'd quickly say something else and they'd never notice."

Hestia and Sirius searched each other's fixed expressions ... then watched their features relaxing into mutual resignation. They turned back to Hermione who had been observing them closely.

"Very well, we agree," said Hestia, with a hint of a sigh.

"I want my first mum and dad to know as well," said Harry, digging in his hip bag. "I mean, nobody can force secrets from the minds of portraits, can they?" He held up the miniatures, then James and Lily moved over to sit on the life-size sofa in the huge wall painting.

"What's going on?" said James, shuffling his position to get comfortable beside Lily.

"Family secrets," Harry said firmly. "Things you should know." He glared at Hermione, daring her to object.

She nodded, then gathered herself together and began to tell them of the future. They took it pretty well considering Hermione did not have Mike Worthing's Pensieve available to really show them the disastrous fate of mankind, and that she had actually experienced it, lived it, not simply foreseen these events. And that now a number of very special people had joined forces to try to prevent the same horror reoccuring, to counter dark forces, and enable Muggles and Magicals to co-exist harmoniously.

With Harry's help, Hermione demonstrated her immaterial spell and other silent, wandless powers. Before his shocked parents could stop him, the boy was taking a kind of malevolent joy in hurling every nasty spell at Hermione he could think of – so much so that his wand was practically smoking by the end, and, with a grin, he made a big show of dropping it onto the broad arm of his chair, blowing on his fingers as if he'd been burnt.

Hermione was pleased to note that, even here in the safety of his own home, even when joking about, Harry's hand did not stray far from his wand. She nodded her approval, then, completely unharmed by his attacks, she began to fade away. "Invisibility and immateriality together are a devastating combination," she explained, and her voice passed right through both Sirius and Hestia, causing them to recoil in surprise.

"Magic is timeless," continued Hermione as she reappeared back in her chair, "so I still have these skills, and am adding to them."

Hestia gulped as she tried to absorb all that had been said. "So you're more than a century old? Changed your appearance? Turned back time?"

Hermione's bushy hair bounced and shook vigorously. "No, I'm thirteen in every way but with over a century of memories and experience to draw on." Her head tilted as she considered how to explain what she herself often struggled to comprehend. "Sometimes I behave quite childishly, yet I've always found that danger brings out my best survival instincts."

Sirius frowned. "Like this morning? You saved Harry from an attack?"

"Harry saved himself."

"Thanks to your training," Harry smiled grimly.

"Merlin!" gasped Sirius. "Why? How'd they even find you, Harry? This house is hidden by–"

"–A Fidelius charm, yes," said Hermione, "but there are other members of the Black family who know the approximate area – your brother, Regulus for one – so they are probably keeping watch on the nearest streets."

Eyes wide, Sirius moved quickly from his seat, drawing his wand. "–or else Harry's being tracked! Over by the door, Harry, while I check."

Harry did as he was told, and Sirius cast charms in an attempt to find any tracking spells that might have been placed upon him. Hermione joined them and added some detection magic of her own.

"He's clear," Hermione finally conceded.

"Well, that's a relief at least," said Sirius, finally. "But from now on, Harry, your mother or I will Apparate you from the front step for local trips. Floo should be safe enough but... silly question, Hermione, can you Apparate?"

Before she could answer, Harry laughed dryly. "I'd say so!" He dropped down into his cumfy chair again rather heavily and his wand bounced and slid neatly into his waiting hand. "You should have seen how far we–"

"–The Arcanist that Harry captured this morning," cut in Hermione, "we delivered him to await trial in the prison I told you about."

"The one in Europe? You left the country this morning? And returned?" Hestia frowned, her mind overloaded by all this new information. "And you said you're working with others who – responsible adults, I mean?"

"Yes, it's not perfect but they use Veritaserum to make absolutely sure of guilt. If we handed him over to the Aurors, we'd have trouble proving the case and anyway, Azkaban is inhumane because of the Dementors, and unsafe because their allegiance may be swayed."

Sirius leaned back in his chair, shaking his head dazedly for many silent moments. Finally, he asked, "Any other astonishing revelations we should know about?"

Hermione look thoughtful. "Yes. There's a new prophecy but I don't–"

With a squeal, Hestia turned on Sirius. "Of course! _Hermione_ must be the one that Dumbledore's searching for!"

Sirius gaped at her, then turned, realisation dawning. "Hermione, can you... you told us you experienced the future... so how did you get there? And back to uuh... _our_ time?"

But Hermione had turned pale. "Dumbledore...? Looking for me?

Hestia's voice was trembling. "He asked – some of us – to be vigilant, to keep watch for any sign of someone who might be a – the word he used was 'maven'. Dumbledore said it meant someone born twice. That's you, isn't it? Is that how you know the future? You died but were reborn? Same parents? Same home? Same birth date?"

Hermione nodded, distracted by worry. "Then Snape must have told Dumbledore about the prophecy."

"Snape?" said Sirius. "Dumbledore never told us how he came by it."

"It was given to Draco Malfoy who then informed Snape."

Harry stared hard at Hermione. "The scary voice I heard near the North Tower?"

"Yes."

" _You_ heard the prophecy, Harry?" said Hestia. "Then what did it foretell?"

"No, they were round a corner. I only heard a distant voice."

Hermione said, "Hestia, are you saying Dumbledore didn't tell you the whole prophecy?"

"None of it. Only to keep watch for a wizard who displayed exceptional knowledge – someone who might help us."

"'Us'? You mean the Order of the Phoenix?"

Sirius groaned. "Is there anything you _don't_ know about Hermione?"

"So, Dumbledore's looking for a man? A great wizard? An adult?" said Hermione.

"That was the impression he gave, yes."

"Then my ruse to appear only a weak, nervous little girl has successfully kept me underserving of attention. Leave the Headmaster with his assumptions for now."

"But we must inform him we've found the maven!"

"You gave your word, remember!" snapped Hermione. "I'm not yet ready to work with Dumbledore. He would never agree to vigilante trial and punishment. And can you imagine him ever playing second fiddle to me? He would try to take over, steer me in his direction."

"Hermione." Lily's soft voice from the picture startled them all. "Can you tell us what was in the prophecy?"

A few moments passed while Hermione considered. "Yes. ... Yes, I think you should know. Perhaps you can throw light on what it might mean."

They all leaned forward attentively as Hermione wriggled herself more upright in her chair. Then she took a deep breath.

" _Darkness comes. The beast shall be its only sign. On a high place, the cursed shall be set against a maven. Equal yet greater, neither can survive the other's defeat. Darkness comes."_

Sirius ran a hand through the long black mane of his hair. "How can anything be equal yet greater?"

James spoke. "Hermione, would your immateriality protect you even against a dark object? A cursed object?"

"Yes, but I can't sustain my spell for more than a few minutes."

"But long enough to escape anything nasty coming–"

–A terrifying, hissing shriek was heard from the hall, descending the stairs towards them at tremendous speed. Wands came out instantly, but it was Hermione who flew to the open door. Black pebble eyes pierced her from a pale, heart-shaped face.

" _SCREEEEEEE!"_

"Master!" wailed from the stair. "Kreacher tried his best to–"

"It's okay!" cried Hermione. "It's just a barn owl. I know whose it is."

"Kreacher!" cried Sirius. "Explain!"

The old house-elf tumbled awkwardly in a heap at the foot of the steps, panting, "Flew in loophole tile as if it owned the attic! Cuffed this poor old elf with long wings! 'No Rosemary here!' cries Kreacher. Go away!" The elf rubbed a bruise that was forming on his long snout. "Bird too fast down stairs for old elf legs."

"It's me! I'm Rosemary," cried Hermione. "I'm sorry, Kreacher, I wasn't expecting an owl to seek me out here." The big bird had perched on the handrail. As soon as Hermione retrieved its message, the great wings spread once more and the owl flew back up to the loft exit.

"Cadence! Where's Cadence!" cried Hestia, rushing to the stair.

There was a tiny sound from the front room. " _Wan' sit wiv Hawwy."_ Cadence was curling up in Harry's chair.

Hestia and Sirius exchanged glances. "Did she...?"

"Accidental magic," said Harry as they returned to the front parlour. He sat down again, tucking his sister under his arm before looking at his parents. "Remember when you decided we should visit Aunt Petunia? When I saw Uncle Vernon, I Disapparated six houses away behind a garden wall?"

"You remember that, Harry?" said Sirius. "You were only three! Never again! After Dursley started shouting–"

"He scared me!" protested Harry. "I thought he was a big fat walrus." He glanced at Hermione to see if he'd amused or disappointed her, but she was absorbed in reading the letter that had been delivered.

Sirius frowned. "Everything... alright?"

"Better than that!" smiled Hermione. "Three more families have been persuaded to our cause."

"Who? And who's that from?"

"First, I must use the Fidelia spell on Hestia so no Legilimens can extract our secrets from her mind. You already agreed."

"Very well," said Hestia, and Sirius nodded with a frown.

Hermione cast the charm with a lengthy incantation and flourish of her wand.

"And now you must both decide if you wish to support our cause or remain passively in the background."

Hestia said stiffly, "Hermione, neither Sirius nor I have ever been passive, but now we have a young baby to raise!"

"There are many tasks not requiring risky confrontation. For example, your Wizengamot vote, Sirius."

"I'll be there, I promise. I'll support the Muggle Protection Act."

"Change of plans. Now I don't want you to."

"What!"

Hermione waved her letter. "I want you to be there but delay your vote. Use the counting spell on the first call. If enough approve the Act then I want you to abstain or even vote against."

"By Merlin, why?" cried Sirius.

"We do not want any big swings to draw attention. If all our people attend, we now have a majority of three or four votes depending on how many of the opposition turn up. If the Act is passed by a single vote then that will be enough."

Sirius whistled through his teeth. "Are you sure the Hat put you in Gryffindor and not Slytherin?"

Hermione grimaced. "Most of the traits are in all of us, believe it or not, but the dominant qualities prevail. Your brother Regulus for example: in my previous experience he helped destroy Voldemort and willingly gave his life in the process."

Sirius rose swiftly and began to silently pace. When he finally turned, his eyes were wet. "It's likely he's joined The Black Arc. I... I ordered him to keep away from my family." He sniffed hoarsely before continuing. "Can he... be helped?"

"I don't know, this time around." Hermione sighed. "Likely he feels more secure following the pure-blood line and only the right circumstances will enable him to see differently. We must strive to improve society; perhaps that might inspire him. Are you willing to be considered for membership in our activity? To work towards a better life for your children? It need not conflict with the Order; we're all on the same side after all."

"Has this group a name?" said Hestia.

"We're the Cathesis League. And I want Harry to join too, at least as an observer."

"What! But he's–"

"–He'll be thirteen in a few weeks. He needs to grow up informed and understanding."

Speechless, Harry returned his girlfriend's gaze, wishing he could live up to her expectations of him. "I... I..."

Hermione continued, "There'll be a new batch of Muggle-raised children to be visited this summer: kids who need our guidance. But in these troubled times, the students need a hero. They look to Harry; they turn to Harry Potter for leadership."

Sirius smiled. "While you're just the inconspicuous power behind the throne? After all, you're the one who came back to save the world."

"No, Sirius," said Hermione. "I came back for Harry. Just Harry."

.

—oOo—

.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _A weary sickness and a desktop PC that's been crashing daily have delayed this chapter but finally Book 3 is underway!_

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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	67. 3:Strange Recruits

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 _So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight Ministry corruption and Black Arc members, and Crest defensive training at Hogwarts where she will soon begin her third year. After she and Harry were caught up in a deadly attack on a mini-mart near his home, they have to reveal her secrets to his parents, Sirius and Hestia. Now read on..._

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 **Chapter 67**

 **Strange Recruits**

* * *

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A Sleepless Exchange

Harry Potter lay in bed gazing up at the dimly moonlit ceiling and trying to more clearly visualise his memory of a stretchy yellow t-shirt. Surely if he concentrated hard...? But no, he couldn't quite picture the garment other than as a hazy impression. A sigh gently released itself from his lips. The day had been full, with many conflicting emotions: that kiss in the front room, the dreadful attack on the mini-mart, the visit to Devil's Deep, and finally, the astounding truths that Hermione had revealed to his parents. Nothing would be the same ever again.

There was a movement in the room – only a breath of air – but Harry's hand was grasping his wand under the pillow immediately. Other than that, the boy remained very still – as he'd learnt and even taught others – waiting an opportunity...

"It's only me," came a whisper – Hermione's whisper.

Harry growled as he sat up. "How'd you know I wasn't asleep?"

"You were holding your breath."

He stared through the faint, silvery light then uttered in a low, strained voice, "Hermione! You're... wearing pyjamas!"

Though surprised, the girl hesitated only a moment in her forward movement. "Oh... forgot. Well it's not cold enough for a dressing gown, is it? And anyway, these are flannelette. I couldn't sleep for – listen, I didn't tell your parents everything yet, but the owl message I received about these new families... by the way, you have got the new Muggle-raised kids organised, haven't you? Oh, please say you have!" She swung onto his bed and wriggled into a comfortable, cross-legged position facing him.

Harry struggled to ignore the warmth that accompanied a faint waft of scented talc. "Uuh... y-yeah – well me and Neville and Luna. The letters have gone out anyway. Hopefully we'll have all the replies and can organise a meeting at Neville's well before the middle of this month. Recruit them into Crest, take them shopping, give them a head start with wands, and so on."

"Good. Look, I have more secrets for you."

Harry straightened up a little, more awake than ever. Hermione could see his eyes whiten in the shadows.

"The Zabini family are already indebted to me because I did them a favour."

"Zabini! But they're Slytherins! – well Blaise is!"

"Harry I've told you several times there are a lot of bad apples in the barrel so it's hard for the good ones to avoid becoming rotten too. But not all Slytherins let themselves become contaminated. It was I that helped prove Zabini's innocence when he was accused of blasting Draco off the Astronomy Tower. That was Daggard's doing, as you know."

Harry's mouth opened in surprise but no words came out yet.

Hermione didn't wait. "Madam Zabini is now a member of Cathesis and has persuaded three other families to give their partial support to the cause: voting, convincing others, and so on."

"Which families?" said Harry, not expecting a direct answer.

"The Greengrasses, the Davises, and the Farleys."

"Farley!"

"Shhh..." Hermione put a finger to her lips.

"But she's the prefect who cost me House Points when she nabbed me that night in the Entrance Hall! The one that Ron said tried to kill you all in the thorn dome! She's in the Black Arc!"

"She only supported Draco and didn't even understand what was involved. Her great-grandparents were Muggles so she's regarded almost as a half-blood by those who know. But not many do; the Farleys keep it quiet."

"Shame on them!"

"It's difficult being in Slytherin, and her upbringing was not easy either. From a young age she was instinctively drawn to behaving like a tomboy as a form of emotional protection. Later in life, joining the Arc probably helped her feel more secure. But Ron informed me of the contempt with which Draco treated Gemma near the dome. Her father says she's having second thoughts – doubts about what she's got herself into."

"How can she be trusted?"

"You won't be revealing anything seriously confidential to her. The news from Gemma's dad is that he had it out with her: there was a terrible row and she broke down, admitting how she was seduced and recruited while still only fifteen by a much older person: a former Death Eater. Mr Farley vowed to kill the man but has not been able to find him – nobody has."

"He's gone underground? Why? Because of Farley?"

"No, Harry, he's dead."

"How'd you know that?"

Hermione swept on with a new thought. "This may work to her advantage. It seems to me that The Black Arc have only a general central control; on the perimeters they are connected by anonymous cells so nobody can betray more than one or two. The downside – for them – is that links can be broken, as with the man who recruited Farley."

Harry spoke more fiercely. "How do you know he's dead, Hermione? How do you know?"

"He was killed in a fight, and don't ask me more. ... Perhaps I should Obliviate Draco concerning Gemma; that might sever all her ties with the Arc..."

"Was it you that killed him?"

"No, Harry."

"But you know who did." It was not a question.

"Yes." Hermione almost reached out to take Harry's hand but then thought better of it. "Listen, his name was Macnair, and he was the most evil, bloodthirsty Death Eater you can imagine. What he and his men did in my former life to people you know and care about was despicable and still turns my stomach. I'm glad he was killed, Harry; he deserved to die. Please don't ask me more. Please, Harry."

Through the gloom, Hermione was unsure of Harry's expression, but his silence suggested he was thinking hard.

Finally, he nodded his head, saying, "You're right of course, Hermione. Give me time."

A rush of fondness caused Hermione to lunge at Harry, arms squeezing him in a tight hug. "You're better than me, Harry. I didn't even begin to understand until the end of my previous life's fifth year when we all were close to being killed – I almost died from a curse."

The boy remained quite still, a question forming on his lips but unwilling to spoil the sensation of her contact. Finally, curiosity overcame him. "Why? What happened?"

"You led us all into attacking Death Eaters at the Ministry. You were brilliant, Harry. I was awful."

She felt it prudent not to tell Harry he'd also killed Quirrell when only eleven. The memory made her shudder and she pulled away.

He stared at her. "Me? I led...? When I was only fifteen?"

Hermione nodded, then from her top pyjama pocket, she took out a folded parchment which she handed to Harry. "Here's the letter that came this morning from Madam Zabini. Would you mind writing to the family head of the addresses listed in it? Use your formal title of 'Heir of the House of Black'. Their kids want to learn how to defend themselves but they daren't openly join Crest because they're all in Slytherin. Take Neville and meet with them; work something out. Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass are in our year, but Daphne has a younger sister starting at Hogwarts in September too. Gemma Farley will be starting her seventh year then, but she can still learn a lot from you. Then there's Blaise Zabini as well, of course."

Harry felt a thrill that he was being entrusted with such an important task. He curled his hand around the parchment – still warm from Hermione's pocket – and wished she would embrace him once more. What had he said before that so affected her? _...You're right of course, Hermione._ Yes, perhaps if he said something agreeable... "Thanks, Hermione, I uumm..."

She smiled and patted his hand. "I'd better go. We have to be up early tomorrow if we're going to The Burrow. She kissed him on the cheek. "–'Night, Harry."

"–'Night, Hermione." He slumped back onto his pillow with an air of disappointment, still gripping the parchment and clinging to the fading sensation of her lips on his face. But instead of struggling to visualise a yellow t-shirt, he now began to happily picture soft, warm, pink flannelette while the image was still fresh in his mind.

.

Family, Friends and... Kittens

The far-distant hum of the M5 motorway that served Devon was lost on the morning breeze. Only the pleasant drone of bees was occasionally heard as they gathered pollen from wild honeysuckle entwining the hedgerows. The crooked lane to Ottery St Catchpole rarely conveyed noisy Muggle traffic, and so the clear air crackled all the more sharply when two magical youngsters Apparated almost into the ditch on its sunniest side.

"Watch out, Hermione!" cried Harry. They braced each other from slipping down. "Don't want to have to explain muddy feet to Mrs Weasley, do we?"

They grinned at each other and began the short walk to The Burrow. The boy's brave fingers sought, found, and tangled with those of his happy girlfriend, then their arms swung in unison.

"Hope we don't have to tell fibs again. I hate it when–"

"–She won't even ask," said Hermione. "They always assume I come on the Knight Bus." She shielded her eyes against the bright eastern skyline. "Is that Ginny?"

"HARR–EEE!" There were two madly-waving silhouettes further along the narrow roadway, close to the bend which led into the backyard of the Weasley home. "HERMION–EEE!"

"Yep, that's her alright," grinned Harry, flicking up a few green sparks of exuberance with his wand. "And Luna, I think."

As he and Hermione approached the welcoming pair, Harry called, "Don't tell your mum which way we–"

"–Not to worry," Ginny dismissed his anxiety with a limp-wristed throwaway gesture. "Mum's with Dad and Olive discussing that relative of hers he found in Europe. He's already got papers to sign. Ron's having kittens."

Luna's large, dreamy eyes blinked rapidly. "Is that a new spell, Ginny? For a start, he's a boy, and for another thing–"

"–I mean he's fretting that Olive will have to stay with her sister-in-law and might be adopted by her. I said it would only be part of the holidays and he'd still see Olive at Hogwarts most of the year."

Luna burst into giggles. "Oh, I see, he's only _b–buying_ b–baby kneazles to keep him company while–! I thought you mm–meant–!" But Luna couldn't continue for laughing and she clutched her sides in uncontrollable merriment.

Ginny sighed and swung open the gate they'd just reached. Neville hailed from a flowerbed, or perhaps he was flinging a gnome over the wall; Harry couldn't tell.

"I do like kittens," added Luna, wiping tears from her eyes, "especially baby ones."

Neville called, "Ron's trying to listen in on his mirror but–"

"– _My_ mirror," cut in Harry, as they neared each other.

"– _Your_ mirror, but it–"

"–doesn't work that way," said Hermione. "One of them has to call the other."

"Told me to clear off out here anyway," Neville said mock-mournfully. "Said it was rude of me to eavesdrop on him while he was trying to use his mirror."

"– _My_ mirror." Harry smiled. It was really good, he mused, to be back amongst his friends even though it had only been a few zillion days since they departed Hogwarts the previous week.

Once inside, they gathered around the kitchen table, screeching chairs out and slumping into them while Ginny summoned up jugs of apple and pumpkin juice, and little blackberry pies she'd proudly cooked that morning. Ron's keen nose drew him in from the parlour. "Hi, Harry."

"Twins? – and Percy?" said Harry.

"Upstairs plotting something – and studying."

"I'm surprised Percy's plotting mischief," smirked Harry as he fumbled the Zabini parchment out of his pocket, "and gobsmacked that the twins are studying during the summer hols."

"Prat," said Ginny, heavily sploshing juice into his goblet on purpose.

"Good," said Harry. "Ron you can tell Olive later because she's not directly involved: but as well as the new Muggle-raised kids, we'll have a few Slytherins who need defensive training in private so keep this strictly amongst ourselves."

"You're joking!" cried Ron.

Harry passed around the letter, and explained. Neville showed no reaction at all to the names of the Greengrass girls, Hermione noted; it was as if his infant humiliation at their hands was utterly unimportant in the light of his sturdy relationship with Luna. For the next fifteen minutes, Hermione remained quietly observing the discussion, pleased at the way Harry was listening to everyone's suggestions, and then organising the ideas into one plan.

Ginny said, "So they need to slip away at different times and move by different routes to secretly meet up with some of us in the Room of Requirement without anyone noticing? How?"

"The Room requires another entrance," said Neville, thoughtfully. "I suppose it might be possible."

"It is," said Hermione. "You already did it once – the other Neville, I mean. The brave hero who fought at the Battle of Hogwarts and faced off against the Dark Lord Voldemort to boot."

"Oh, _that_ Neville," grinned Neville. "I thought you–"

"–Harry! Hermione!" A far door had opened and Mrs Weasley bustled through the parlour, followed more sedately by her husband – and Olive who appeared to be struggling to control her emotions.

Harry stood up to receive Mrs Weasley's embrace. Over her shoulder he could see Mr Weasley waving a document in the air, trying to attract attention the moment that Harry might be released.

"Managed to persuade young Olive here," smiled Mr Weasley. "It's for the best."

Olive was hiding her tearful face in her hands now; she looked overcome.

"Adoption papers. Only need filing at the Ministry," went on Mr Weasley. "Everyone!" He seized a spoon and tapped sharply with it on the nearest jug. "It gives me great pleasure to announce that Olive has accepted and is effectively now... Olive Weasley! Ron, Ginny, you have a new sister."

Ginny's eyes brightened and she leapt up from her chair with a rush to hug Olive whose face was shining with joy and barely able to speak: "F–Family! Family again! Th–this is... the HAPPIEST day of my life!" and she gave way to a flood of tears.

But Hermione's eyes were upon Ron. If ever she'd believed he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, Hermione now felt compelled to dismiss that notion, for Ron's face was a tortured mask of conflicting feelings all of which he was fighting to hide. His face was pale and constricted but the tips of his ears had reddened. "Th–that's..." he finally spluttered. "That's w–wonderful, uuh... Olive." The boy dragged himself to his feet and, with leaden boots, marched himself over. "Erm... welcome to our uumm... we can be... see each... uuh..."

Hermione's heart warmed to him. How Ron had changed in this lifetime! Formerly, he'd have ranted and raved and probably slammed out of the backdoor. She knew the reason for his pain, and resolved to release him from it as soon as she was able. Along with all the others, she congratulated Olive. The twins and Percy were called down for the announcement – though all three soon competed noisily for the stairs once more – owls were despatched, Mr Weasley hurried off with the adoption papers to the Ministry, and Molly began summoning copious ingredients for a very large celebratory cake.

"How did you–" began Hermione, as she dodged a huge mixing cauldron flying from its cupboard. Ron wisely edged into the parlour out of harm's way, showing confusion when Olive followed him. Harry and Neville inched the opposite way out the backdoor to further discuss the plan for the new batch of Crest trainees. "–learn all these recipes?" finished Hermione.

"Witch Weekly, dear," smiled Mrs Weasley. "I wouldn't be without it."

"You subscribe?" But Hermione knew she did.

"Always have." Mrs Weasley contemplated two small bags of different types of flour. "There are articles, and advice, and quizzes, and–"

"–Quizzes!" squealed Hermione quite girlishly, and both Luna and Ginny gave her a curious stare. "Perhaps I might reconsider my opinion of the magazine then, for I imagined it full of puerile, shallow romance!"

"Ah, well..." Mrs Weasley, looking suddenly uncomfortable, made a hurried decision, and banished one of the little flour sacks back to the pantry. "Yes, mmm... perhaps you're not quite old enough yet for some of the.. erm... grownup stories."

Hermione feigned immense disappointment, slumping her shoulders quite dramatically. "You're right, of course, Mrs Weasley. I suppose I could buy one to consider, then cut out the quiz and the recipes, and throw the nonsense away, or I'll never learn how to–"

"–You'll do no such thing!" A cloud of flour was slapped into the air. Mrs Weasley stared at her hands in consternation. "Ginny! Be a good girl and fetch me down last year's bound version of the Weekly, would you? They're at the back of–"

"–your wardrobe. Hidden behind the secret panel. I know."

Ginny scampered off with Mrs Weasley gawking after her.

Luna leaned towards Hermione and whispered, "You should have been in Ravenclaw – if you're good at quizzes, that is." Her attempted wink was more of a half-squint and made her sneeze.

"Sorry, Luna dear," called Mrs Weasley, swishing the cloud of flour out through the open window into the garden. She gazed out as it dissipated, her eyes on the fruit bushes and trees in the orchard. "Cherries, I think... Luna, would you...?"

With a smile, Luna accepted the little basket offered by Mrs Weasley's next conjuration, and skipped out the backdoor.

There was quietness in the kitchen for a while as Mrs Weasley worked her magic on the cake mixture. "Where has that girl got to? ... _GINNY!"_

Hermione looked out into the hall. Ginny was poised halfway up the stair with a heavy card binder under one arm.

" _Ginny...!"_ hissed Hermione.

With a nod, Ginny came back to the kitchen. "Mum, you're not making a fish cake again, are you? Only there's an odd smell in the stairway."

"Smell? On the stairs? Can't be. I Scourgified the whole house only yesterday ready for our guests. Go and help Luna pick cherries."

"Oh, so I imagined it then?"

Ginny stomped towards the backdoor, and Hermione had to grab the binder from her in passing. Boldly written on its cover was: _Witch Weekly 1992_. Inside, the well-thumbed weekly editions were held in order by vertical strings. Hermione flipped through January and February until her finger rested on the title page of the 13th March edition and she read to herself the largest blurb angled across it:

 _BEGINNING THIS WEEK:  
_ _ **RITE FULLY YOURS!**_ _  
by Marinatta Tosche_

Hermione smiled to herself.

.

Deadly Flights

Mid-morning, and Ginny seconded the twins to make up Quidditch sides until lunchtime.

"I need to keep in practice for September!" she insisted. "Harry, Ron, me and Neville, against you two with Luna and Olive?"

"One Beater and Chaser a side?" Fred and George looked at each other.

"No, two Beaters, no Seeker," called Ginny, who was already taking off on a broomstick. "Hermione can randomise from a time charm to simulate a Snitch being caught. Unless you want to rope in Percy and Mum?"

"Erm... probably not a good idea," grinned Fred, leaping into the air to follow Ginny to the paddock. Harry wasn't far behind. All the youngsters were looking up – especially when they heard a banshee howling towards them.

From way up on her broomstick, Ginny screamed. She screamed again. And pointed.

High in the sky from the northwest, cartwheeled an immense metal object like a giant hammer end over end but trailing smoke and fire. Hermione instantly thought it an asteroid about to impact the village of Ottery. But the reality was too bizarre to absorb for the several seconds it passed overhead – until the head of the hammer separated from the shaft. "A truck trailer! And its cab – oh God! That poor driver!" She whirled about to judge the direction of its source. "From the motorway!"

"Another!" cried Ginny, zooming down to rejoin the others, with the twins on her tail.

To everyone there, it was obvious the new projectile threatened to pass perilously close to the yard side of The Burrow – the kitchen.

"MUM!" Ron was sprinting back to the house, his broomstick forgotten.

"CRESTERS, HALT!" Hermione's amplified command spun the boy around in his tracks, white-faced and terrified. He watched the power of her spell pushing the trajectory of the missile away from the yard to the other side of the house, but just as the spinning vehicle was about to clear the rightmost gable, it broke apart. Metal shafted through wood, exploding to matchsticks most of the upper bedroom on that side. A voice could be heard screaming hysterically from deep within the house. Then it fell silent.

"PERCY!" Ron resumed his headlong race to get into his home.

"Luna!" cried Hermione. "They made a correction!"

"A watcher? A forward spotter?" Her long blonde hair swirled as she turned to look. "Then he must be on–"

"–FIND HIM! DOWN HIM! ANY MEANS!" yelled Hermione. "CRESTERS! TO LUNA!" She rounded on the nearest flier. "HARRY – WITH ME!"

Onto the back of his broomstick she leapt and twisted into a Disapparition. There was only a small pop but she, Harry, and broom were almost instantly assailed by traffic noise and dropping within a narrow coppiced strip that bordered the wide roadway of the M5. Harry could barely control his flight, though managed to swerve quietly to a safe landing behind a thick range of ugly pollards – not before Hermione saw a robed figure whirling round to face their direction.

"Keep low, Harry," murmured Hermione. "There's a group of them. Thought so. They need the magical power of several wizards to lift–"

–A petrol tanker was already taking off like a wingless aircraft. The tank was never designed for such a bending force and immediately split apart, spewing fuel over the speeding vehicles below. Within moments, a huge sphere of hot flame exploded outwards, engulfing all within range.

"NOOOO!" In a fury, Hermione banished the fireball directly towards the woodland before them. Screams mingled with rapid cracks of Disapparition and the noise of traffic crashing heavily beyond Harry's view.

"Stay here!" Hermione rushed forward, wand thrust ahead. Despite her command, she could hear Harry crashing through the coppiced woody material behind her. "You don't want to see this, Harry!"

Breathing hard, they emerged into a war zone. Several distorted, blackened corpses littered the blasted area. Harry cringed and turned his face away from the nearest. Hermione scurried low, searching for identification on the bodies. "Damn! I'm sure I spotted Lucius Malfoy, but he's long gone."

She turned to look at Harry. He was being sick. "Good, you held onto your broom. This is what happened: you flew me here but as we approached, the petrol tanker crashed into the wood. Seems the Arcanists' magic wasn't strong enough to keep it in the air. Agreed...?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks, Hermione," spluttered Harry, wiping his mouth.

"Are we agreed?"

"Yeah, damned right as usual!"

"I'm trying to keep us alive, Harry. Not just now but what will follow because of it."

"I know," muttered Harry. "Sorry."

They raced back on the broom to The Burrow, arriving just as Mr Weasley Apparated into view. There were two youths' bodies sprawled amongst the carrots in the garden, well away from the house; one was Percy with his mother leaning over him, weeping. He was glistening, shining with light, as though his soul was seeping from the mortal body. The other children were gathered around with terribly strained expressions and wands still nervously pointing back and forth.

"What happened, Molly?" shouted Mr Weasley as he ran to them, and crouched down next to his wife.

"Oh, Arthur..." sobbed Mrs Weasley, glad of his arm round her shoulder.

Harry sniffed. There was something rather fishy about this.

Fred stepped forward. "Our fault, Dad. Sorry. Cod Liver Oil hex. Percy slipped and skidded down the stairs and banged his head a few times."

"Maybe I should knock some sense into both your heads too!" barked Mr Weasley.

"He wasn't in his room then?" said Harry. "Percy, I mean."

"No," said Fred, "he heard us all shouting and ran down to give us a rollicking. Excitement triggered the uuh... excessively oily sweat. Flowed out of his boots and pants and... down he went."

Harry saw Hermione's shoulders relax with relief, and she covered a sob with her hand. She had been the one who'd bent the course of the flying truck to near where Percy's bedroom was located. Maybe she wasn't so hardened after all, he realised, and one of the twins' pranks had done some good for a change. He turned to Fred and George. "You saved Percy's life. There's not a splinter on him. He chuted away from the danger faster then he could ever have run."

They stared at him, digesting this new thought.

Mr Weasley stood up. "He'll be alright when he wakes up."

A gaggle of Ministry officials and Aurors popped into view, with Dumbledore half a minute later. Questions and explanations flew back and forth with several officials re-Apparating away to the motorway and the other impact site beyond Ottery. A Healer began reviving Percy and the other youth who, Hermione recognised once he groggily sat up, was Theodore Nott. A short pole and a couple of small dead animals lay beside him.

"We searched and searched and found him signalling Arcanists with his fishing net. Way over there," pointed Luna, "and waving hello to the birds."

"The Black Arc? They disbanded years ago. Anyway, their calling card is a dark rainbow – as everyone knows," said the most senior-looking official. Hermione frowned. The man was Pius Thickness. He was an unknown quantity, yet to prove his affiliations.

"Underage magic was detected. Who Stupefied him?" Thickness demanded.

"Uuh... that would be... well, most of us," admitted George. "We found him directing traffic towards our home! What else were we supposed to do?"

"Preposterous! Are you saying this young boy summoned heavy Muggle vehicles from out of sight over a mile away and hurled them at the house? Dawlish, check Nott's wand!"

George glared at the senior official as if he were stupid. "No, as Luna said, he was signalling to his accomplices nearer the... uumm... erm... Muggle road." The doubt in his voice showed on his face too, which he grudgingly turned to gaze in the direction of the sounds from the M5 – near-inaudible despite the present chaotic noise of sirens and shouting.

Thickness looked too. "That far off? Nearly half a mile, I'd guess? And over the slope?" He bent down to pick up the net. It had a very large mesh but its shaft was less than six foot long. "With this?" he scoffed. "You had to search for him? You couldn't even see him from the garden so how–?"

"–And waving at the birdies," said Luna, much to Hermione's disappointment.

"There are many ways of sending messages," said Hermione, then bit her lip in regret.

Dumbledore came to the rescue. "There are indeed. Sparks from a wand, for instance. Two-way mirrors. I could sneak a Patronus down to the Hogwarts kitchens when I was only fourteen." Fred and George stared in astonishment at their Headmaster.

Thickness shook his head. "Patronus? At Nott's age? And two-way mirrors are an extreme rarity – search him anyway, Dawlish."

"Already have, sir. No magical objects at all except for his wand." He handed it over.

"And?"

"No sparks. No Patronus. The only recent spells were those of the freezing charm."

" _Immobulus?"_ Thickness walked over to the boy who was being helped to his feet by the healer. "Well, young Nott? What have you to say for yourself? What were you doing here? Fishing so far away from the river?"

"It's not for fishing! It's my butterfly net. I have a big collection. Everyone knows. You can ask anyone who knows me! I'm staying with my aunt and uncle in Ottery for the summer. This is a good area for –" His expression indicated a recent memory had just sprung into his mind. "– I finally got me a Painted Jezebel! Where's my jar!" He began looking around mournfully.

"And those rabbits?" said Dawlish, indicating the little furry creatures sprawled near where Nott had once lain.

"They make good stew. I often nab the odd one when I'm butterfly-hunting – if you know where to look."

"How? You're not old enough to master the Summoning charm. Are we to believe you laid snares, traps? Waited all night?"

"I use _Immobulus_ of course! Same as for butterflies. Those freeze and drift in the air and I can catch them easy with my net." He looked around again. "Where's my jar?"

Thickness nodded. "Dawlish, send someone to find his butterfly jar. If his story checks out, give him his wand back."

"WHAT!" came many shouts – mainly from Weasleys. Ron was furious. "He tried to destroy our home! Almost killed Percy!"

"There's no evidence that he was involved and no sensible way he could have communicated with–" Thickness glanced around. "Two children were seen near the roadway. Who were they?"

Harry stepped forward. "Me and Hermione. We flew in the direction where the trucks came from to find out what was going on."

"Potter? You're Harry Potter? And...?"

"Granger, sir – Hermione Granger. As Harry said, we went on his broomstick. We saw a great ball of fire and then... oh, it was horrible ... horrible dead bodies." She began crying and sobbing.

"There, there, Miss Granger. Put it out of your mind," said Dumbledore sympathetically. "Molly? Would you?"

"Of course, Headmaster." Mrs Weasley took Hermione towards the backdoor of The Burrow. "Come on, dear, and I'll make you a nice cup of tea."

Harry stared after them. Then, still tasting bile in his mouth, followed.

"Wait!" Theodore Nott had hurried after him. "Wait up, Black. I have to apologise."

Harry paused, frowning, then resumed his march with Nott still on his heels. "Clear off. It's not me you need to apologise to."

"N–Need to explain!" puffed Nott. "Made up th–that story."

"What!" Harry stopped and gawked.

"Oh, I really am staying with relatives in Ottery. And I really do have a big butterfly collection. But..."

"But what! Killing insects not enough of a blood sport for you? Thought you'd try netting a few people into your sick collection?"

"It's not like that, Black. That's not what happened. I know nothing about that attack. Oh, I saw those vehicles soaring over. Scared the Merlin out of me! Without thinking I waved my net to warn anyone at the house – but obviously you were all too far away."

"Then how'd you know where the house was?"

"I could see the roof, and I knew roughly. I was on my way to meet you, you see."

"What!"

"My friend told me she was joining you – well, not exactly _told_ but–"

"–WHAT! WHAT! WHAT! ... WHO? Who told you?"

"Farley. Gemma Farley."

The yard fell silent but for the faint murmuring of the Aurors further into the garden, still taking notes from the other children, and the occasional sighing of the breeze in the branches of the few trees that helped divide the areas.

"She had no right," Harry said finally. There was great disappointment in his voice. "I've not even written to the Farleys yet. I won't now. Shove off, Nott."

"No, no, you misunderstand. She didn't exactly _tell_ me. I uumm... I overheard her talking with her dad. They'd had a terrible row and I'd politely slipped away into the kitchen. They must have forgotten I was with them that day. Did you know she... she might have been involved with the Black Arc? I wanted to leave. But then they'd suspect I'd heard. I didn't know what to do."

Harry groaned and muttered, " _So much for secrecy..._ "

"What? Look, you have to help me, Black. I don't know who else to trust. You don't know what it's like in Slytherin."

"How'd you know that I'd be here?"

"Nobody seems to know where you live, but everyone knows who your friends are, Black. I took a chance. I walked over to the Lovegoods first. They said Luna was visiting friends at the Weasleys. It was a safe bet that you'd be here too."

"You'd better go."

"Please, Black? Give me a chance?"

Harry hesitated. "I'll discuss it with my friends. But the Weasleys will want to kill you if you hang about here much longer."

"Thanks. You've given me hope for the first time in – I won't forget this, Black!"

He dashed off. Harry watched as one of the Aurors handed him his net and what appeared to be a large jam jar hanging by a string handle. Whatever was within, its fluttering days were over.

.

—oOo—

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* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Now that the Blacks will be joining Cathesis, dennisud asked how the Longbottoms and Lovegoods are doing. Well, they won't be told the truth about Hermione yet, if ever, and I've not considered whether they need to be formal members of Cathesis. My thinking so far is that Madam Longbottom has been networked by Jop Gair so she's aware there is some 'political movement' afoot in the background and so would support with her vote. I don't see the Lovegoods having a vote on the Wizengamot but would support with making views and facts public in the Quibbler. Maybe Pandora would fit nicely into Cathesis one day._

 _In case you didn't know, 'a rollicking' is rude Brit speak for a severe reprimand. Rhyming slang you see. Also, the verb 'seconded' is Brit speak meaning (in this chapter's context) to temporarily assign (requisition, officially seize) someone to another post. I guess you'd say the german translator in 'Saving Private Ryan' was seconded by Tom Hanks' character for their mission. It's pronounced si-conded in this usage._

 _Just to remind you, underage detection spells at the Ministry cannot tell who cast such a spell and anyway, do not inform anyone if there is an adult Magical nearby. However, officials can check if any underage magic was detected as a routine part of their investigation of a crime._

 _In other news trivia: this fic now has almost 1,000 followers! Woohoo! Thanks everyone! Of course, that's nothing like the 20,000 plus followers of the very top stories but at least we're now on Page 60 out of almost 19,000 pages of Potter stories with filters set to Follows (or Page 135 of over 23,000 if you include Mature.) All of which proves that if you make a big enough pile of garbage, more people will notice it! :D_

 _Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful._ :)

 **– Hippothestrowl**

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